Regency Vows: A Gentleman 'Til Midnight / The Trouble with Honour / An Improper Arrangement / A Wedding By Dawn / The Devil Takes a Bride / A Promise by Daylight. Julia London
when I’ve ever been so relieved to see a man draw breath as the moment I realized Captain Warre was alive,” she told them.
“Naturally!” Blaine agreed heartily.
Oh, yes—they were deep in the mire now. “Blessedly the worst was avoided,” James said, “thanks to the care and hospitality of Lady Dunscore and her excellent crew.” He tried for a pleasant smile, but it felt more like a death grimace. “They set about tending to my needs immediately.”
Finally she met his eyes. “Captain Warre’s care and comfort were our greatest concerns,” she assured them gravely.
“Indeed.” He held her gaze in a silent vice. “I could not have received closer attention had I been at home with my own physicians.”
“You can imagine how pleased we were to see that he responded to our attentions almost immediately—” her eyes sparked “—and quite markedly.”
Two moments alone and he would rid her of that smug expression and perhaps sample what her low-cut décolletage offered while he was at it.
“Such a miracle,” Werrick declared. “You must be immensely...grateful...to your rescuer, Croston.” His eyes, full of calculating imagination, slid from James’s face to the cutthroat beauty at his side.
“I would be grateful to anyone who saved my life, Werrick.” James inhaled silently and schooled himself. The last thing he needed was that kind of rumor flying around London while he was under orders to secure her a husband.
A decent husband. Who would treat her—and Anne—with the respect they deserved. Who might need Katherine’s wealth, but would nevertheless appreciate her qualities.
At that precise moment, Honoria appeared with a fifth matrimonial offering. “Do excuse me,” she interrupted brightly, “but I’ve got someone Lady Dunscore must meet.” This time it was Cashen—a middle-aged rakehell Honoria knew damned well worked his way through mistresses faster than most men drank Port.
“Desist,” James ordered her under his breath after she made the introductions.
Honoria ignored him. “Why, Lady Dunscore, I am convinced you and Lord Cashen must have a great deal in common. He was just describing the most magnificent pair of Ottoman sculptures he recently acquired.”
“Fascinating,” Katherine said warmly. “I can’t wait to hear about them.”
James stared at her. This sensual snake charmer bore little resemblance to the sharp-tongued, cutlass-wielding sea captain who had stood laughing while he swept rats’ nests and emptied slop buckets. It was obvious the game she was playing, and it needed to stop immediately.
THE NEW STRATEGY was working beautifully. Fools. She would not have survived one day at sea if she was as easily distracted as these men. Finally free from their cloying gazes—even if only for a moment—Katherine took aim for the shrubbery, where an inviting arbor promised a few moments of solitude.
It was not to be.
“I seem to recall a marked response on your part, as well,” came Captain Warre’s growl at her side, “a bit later in the voyage.”
“Do you? I don’t recall.” She plunged into the arbor with the captain on her heels and turned on him just in time to see the entire encounter replay itself in his eyes. A nerve pulsed wildly in her belly.
All night those eyes had been on her, touching her the way he so clearly wanted to do with his hands. The way every man here so clearly wanted to do.
But there was only one man whose hands her body remembered too well.
“You must thank your sister for me,” she made herself say. “She has been instrumental in introducing me to any number of men whose influence may serve me.”
“Has she.” The heat in his eyes defied the chill in his tone.
“One must use the resources at one’s disposal, after all.” It made her sick that everything she had worked to become counted for nothing here. The power she had as the Possession’s captain was gone, and now the only power to be found was pushing dangerously from the top of her stays.
It was a bloody poor substitute.
“Resources,” he said coldly.
She smiled. “Phil places great store on them.”
“It would seem Lady Moore’s comment about Covent Garden wasn’t too far off the mark, after all.”
“Bastard!” The temper she’d been holding in all night snapped, and she raised her hand to slap him. He grabbed her wrist.
“What will you do if a committee is appointed? Bed them all?”
If she could have drawn on him right here in this arbor and cut him to shreds, she would have. “Perhaps I shall,” she scoffed, and yanked her hand from his grasp. “Forgive me if I feel uncomfortable leaving my fate entirely in your hands. I’ve tried that before, if you’ll recall.”
His eyes flashed dangerously. “You will cease your flirtations immediately, Captain.”
“Or else what? Will you ram your cannons and sink me with a full broadside?”
His mouth tightened. “You need to appear sensible.”
“As if any of these men gives a bloody damn for my senses.”
“For God’s sake, Katherine. You need to appear intelligent. Agreeable. Well-meaning.”
Now she smiled. “When have I ever not appeared agreeable, Captain?”
He pointed a finger in her face and, though it seemed impossible, moved even closer. “Now, you listen here, and listen well. The success of this entire effort depends on your full and complete cooperation. Is that understood?”
The tension in his posture screamed of something besides frustration at her behavior. A hot pulse shuddered through her body. “Explain what you mean by cooperation.”
He jabbed that finger at her. “I mean that you do every—” jab “—single—” jab “—blasted—” jab “—thing I tell you—” jab “—precisely the way I tell you to do it.”
“I am not under your command.”
“You came under my command the moment I agreed to help you.”
“That is quite a fantasy, Captain.” Except that it wasn’t. In the golden light of a single torch flickering through a jumble of wisteria leaves, his shadowed gaze drilled into her.
Things were no different than they’d been ten years ago. The situation may have changed, but he enjoyed the freedom of his acclaim while she remained imprisoned by her fate.
Voices drifted closer. People were coming. Captain Warre cursed and pulled her deeper into the arbor.
Through the leaves, she saw two men stop near the front of the arbor. “...Holliswell has his way, Dunscore will be off the market,” one of them said.
She stood perfectly still, listening, alive to the press of Captain Warre’s every fingertip against the small of her back.
“Ingraham,” he whispered near her temple.
The other man chuckled. “In the market for that, are you? Can’t say I blame you—Dunscore is no mean estate.” In the shadowy light, Captain Warre’s expression turned murderous.
“I’d never have to bow out of a game again,” the first man said.
“And you’d go home to the spiciest quim in London. Wouldn’t mind a piece of that for myself.”
Captain Warre’s hand tightened against her back.