If I Only Had a Duke(41)

Her heartbeat sped even faster at the prospect.

"Do I!" Molly grabbed his hand and they set off across the deck, stepping over coiled ropes and stopping to speak with the crewmen.   





 

Dalton stood beside Thea, nearly touching her. The heat and strength of his nearness had the same effect on her every time, turning her knees wobbly and setting her cheeks aflame.

"Slept well, my lady?" The suggestiveness of the simple words and the knowing glint in his eyes made her hands tighten around the railing.

"Not enough, I'm afraid." She gave him an arch smile.

"And whose fault was that?" He reached over on the pretext of tucking a curl into her bonnet and murmured in her ear. "Someone demanded satisfying."

She tilted her cheek into his hand. "And someone stood and delivered."

His laughter rumbled low and delicious along her spine. "And someone stole my breath away."

And your heart? she wanted to ask. Was it stolen as well? Because mine's lost forever.

He rubbed his thumb across her cheek and over her lower lip.

Her skin was still sensitive from the roughness of the stubble along his jaw where he'd pressed against her as they kissed. Her cheeks had been ruddy and scrubbed-looking in the glass this morning.

Her heart sensitive and scrubbed raw as well.

He dropped his hand from her cheek and pointed into the distance. "Cork Harbor."

A solitary lighthouse perched on a rock promontory cast a baleful red eye out to sea, and rising in the distance were the cliffs of Ireland, blanketed in green, misty with fog.

His shoulders stiffened and his eyes lost their wicked glint. He stood with his legs braced against the movement of the sea and his hooded eyes searching the horizon.

He must be thinking about the last time he saw those cliffs.

So many years ago.

She covered his hand with hers. "Tell me what you see, Dalton."



What do you see when you're ten?

Not darkness. Not revenge.

Simply life. Sailors heaving ropes and hoisting sails, singing interestingly bawdy songs about mermaids.

The rocking of the waves and a swelling of pride. I'm not seasick, Papa. Alec's heaving in a bucket but I'm strong like you.

Ten years old and desperate for his father's approval.

Mama doesn't love me best, but who cares? I'm not a mewling mama's boy like Alec. I'm already a man.

Delicate touch along his knuckles.

Soft fingers interlacing with his.

His body tall. Substantial. Not ten years old.

Thea's hand clasping his on top of the ship's railing.

His chest tightened. He wasn't alone. She was here with him.

Brisk breeze ribboning marmalade curls away from her bonnet and into the sunshine.

In the distance, jagged cliffs over the ocean.

"What is it?" she asked softly, the concern flooding her eyes jolting him back to the present.

"I was ten the last time I saw those cliffs," he admitted. "Thought I'd invented the world. Thought it was mine for the taking."

"Maybe someday if . . . if all goes well, you might bring your mother to Ireland." The wind whipped curls against her cheeks. "Home is a powerful cure."

"The physicians never offered much hope that she'd ever leave Osborne Court," Dalton said gently. "It's the only home she has now."

"She can learn to conquer her fear with your love and support."

Looking into her eyes, banded with pure steely determination, he could almost believe she was right. He wanted to believe O'Roarke was the shadow he'd hunted for so long, and confronting him would end this obsession for revenge.

"I want you to be right, Thea. Truly I do." He tightened his grip on her hand. "But I don't know what will happen tomorrow."

"Forget tomorrow, then." A smile tilted up her lips. "We have this moment. And it's more than enough."

The desire to kiss her was so strong he nearly cast caution to the breeze. He needed to untie that bonnet and chuck it over the railing as well. It hid her too much.

He needed her free and unobstructed by wire and straw.

Lower the sails. Calm the wind.

Stay rocking here on the ocean long enough to make love with Thea one more time.

A few more hours of sweet, explosive pleasure and whispered secrets.

"Thea." The word wrenched from his lips like a prayer.

"I'm here, Dalton." Unwavering gaze. Bold invitation in her eyes.

"Hate to interrupt, but we're nearly there." Con's gruff voice shattered the moment.

So they were.

They'd sailed through the deepwater harbor proper, passing the large ocean-going vessels that anchored there while ships with shallower drafts like the Truth and Daylight continued up the river Lee toward Cork.

The Great Island loomed large to the starboard, the town of Cobh sprinkled with pinpricks of lamplight. The fog was beginning to stack and thicken as the wind weakened. Rows of cannons could barely be seen across the harbor, slumbering sentinels keeping silent watch from the fortifications on Haulbowline Island.   





 

"We can't be seen together. Not after yesterday. Trent's spread the word. Maybe even to Ireland," Con said.

"Of course." Dalton drew away from Thea. "I wasn't thinking." And that's why he couldn't succumb to these longings. Because he had to protect her from the men who sought to expose his secret. And the dangerous man he sought.

"I'll stay below with Thea while we dock," he told Con. "You leave first with Molly."

"I'll send word when all's clear," Con said tersely. "There'll be a carriage waiting to take you and Thea."

Dalton nodded. He owed Thea safe passage to the door of her aunt's house, at least.

"I'll join you later in town," Con said.

Dalton laid a hand on his arm. "No. Stay with Molly and Bronagh. I can find O'Roarke alone."

Con searched his face for a few tense moments. "All right, then. But if you need me you know where to find me." Con struck Dalton lightly on the shoulder. "Be careful, you ungrateful gobshite."

"And you, you grizzled bastard. Try not to muck things up too badly with brown-eyed Bronagh."





Chapter 22





"The carriage will be waiting farther down the quay," Dalton told Thea as they descended the gangplank, she shrouded in her voluminous gray cloak, and he in the sober black coat, a blue kerchief around his neck, and his scuffed old boots.

He never had polished them.

She'd seen through his act so easily. The face he showed the world, the blasé charm and careless laughter.

He'd lowered his guard with her and she knew him better than anyone in the world now. And the wonder of it was that she still clasped his hand as they walked along the wooden pier of the Cork harbor.

"Your aunt's cottage is near Balfry House?" he asked her.

"Very near. Along the coast road."

"I've heard about this marmalade your aunt makes." Dalton wanted to bring back her smile. "Do you think she'd be willing to part with a jar for a hungry traveler?"

"She never lets anyone leave Ballybrack without a jar. Dear Aunt Emma. I've missed her. I'd like you to meet her."

"I'd like that," he admitted.

He couldn't force himself to push her away anymore. He was tired of it. He wanted to be with her. And every second he spent with her was going to be as good and perfect as he could make it.

"Perhaps before we go to Ballybrack we could . . . visit Balfry House first?" she asked. The words slipped out in a nonchalant tone, but he knew what they meant to her.

He squeezed her hand lightly. He wasn't afraid of crushing her delicate bones anymore. He knew she was made of fire and steel.

He didn't have to search for O'Roarke until tomorrow.

One more day with Thea. Unmasked and free from the weight of secrets and lies.

Visiting Balfry would force him to face those awful memories, but she'd be there by his side, holding his hand as she did now.

"Why not?" he said with a smile. "You can show me the Sleeping Venus. Point out all her hidden symbolism."

Her answering smile lit the misty spring afternoon like a glimpse of July sunshine. "I'd love to show you! The afternoon is the perfect time of day for illuminating the play of light and shadow along her limbs. Artemisia was very skilled at the technique of chiaroscuro."

Chiaroscuro. The contrasting of light and dark.

Passionate, full-of-light Thea by his side. And dark, secret twisting of vengeance in his gut.

Dalton knew exactly what would happen when she showed him that painting. She'd hook her hand through the tassel on the drapes and slide the curtains open, and something would open inside Dalton as well.

Something would shift inside his chest as sunlight pierced the gloom and settled directly upon a rich, beautiful painting, not half as beautiful as the woman by his side.

And maybe he was ready for that now.

"Goddesses," Dalton said with a knowing glance. "I like goddesses. Especially when they're in my bed."

"I thought you said no more beds." Her lids lowered seductively over blue eyes misted with gray.

"And I think you want more scandalizing."

Hang it all, he needed to kiss her when she smiled at him in that fully wicked way. He caught her waist in his hands and pulled her against his chest.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "We're on a public pier, darling."

"Darling?"

Her cheeks flushed. "Er . . . that is-"

"No, don't retract it. I like darling far better than arrogant arse . . . and I don't care who sees me kiss you. We'll scandalize every quay worker from here to Dublin." He'd kiss her and claim his patch of sunshine in this gray, uncertain world, if she'd have a sinner like him.