Forbidden to the Duke
He turned, nodding, and with a jerk of his chin indicated the arrow in her hand.
‘Would you really hurt me?’ he asked.
Something flickered behind her eyes. Some memory he could never see.
‘I hope I could,’ she said. ‘I tell myself every day that I will be strong enough.’
‘You wish to kill someone?’
She shook her head, tousled hair falling softly, and for a moment she didn’t look like the woman she was, but reminded him of a lost waif. ‘No. I wish to be strong enough.’
‘Have you ever...hurt anyone?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I know of no woman who has ever killed a man, except my grandmother, Gigia.’
He waited.
‘A man, from a ploio. A ship. He was not good. He killed one of the women from our island and hurt another one almost to her death. Gigia gave him drink. Much drink, and he fell asleep. He should not have fallen asleep. Gigia said it was no different than killing a goat, except the man was heavier. My mana and uncle were there and they buried him. I do not think the men from the ship cared about losing him. They did not hunt for him long. Gigia gave them wine and we helped them search.’
Rhys took a breath. He’d invited this woman into his home, where his mother would meet her. This woman who seemed no more civilised than the rabbits she wished to protect and yet, he wanted to bury his face against her skin and forget.
‘I see.’ He frowned, repressing his notice of her as a woman. He certainly did not need to be noting the insignificant things about her.
‘From your face, I think you do.’ Instantly, her eyes pinched into a tilted scowl, her nose wrinkled. She mocked him. His mouth opened the barest bit. Yes, she’d jested.
‘Miss Cherroll,’ he spoke, beginning his reprimand, holding himself to the starched demeanour his father had used, one strong enough that even a royal would take notice of it. ‘Perhaps my mother could also be of some guidance to you.’
Lashes fluttered. A dash of sadness tinged her words, but the chin did not soften. ‘I am beyond repair.’
Bits of words fluttered through his mind, but none found their way to his lips. He took a moment appraising her, then caught himself, tamping down the sparking embers.
This would not be acceptable. He had survived his sister’s death. He had survived his father’s death. Geoff was gone. The duchess was failing. Rhys’s vision tunnelled around him, leaving only images from memory. He would take his own heart from his chest and wring it out with his two hands before he let it close to another person.
He turned, nodding, and with a jerk of his chin indicated the arrow in her hand.
‘Would you really hurt me?’ he asked.
Something flickered behind her eyes. Some memory he could never see.
‘I hope I could,’ she said. ‘I tell myself every day that I will be strong enough.’
‘You wish to kill someone?’
She shook her head, tousled hair falling softly, and for a moment she didn’t look like the woman she was, but reminded him of a lost waif. ‘No. I wish to be strong enough.’
‘Have you ever...hurt anyone?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I know of no woman who has ever killed a man, except my grandmother, Gigia.’
He waited.
‘A man, from a ploio. A ship. He was not good. He killed one of the women from our island and hurt another one almost to her death. Gigia gave him drink. Much drink, and he fell asleep. He should not have fallen asleep. Gigia said it was no different than killing a goat, except the man was heavier. My mana and uncle were there and they buried him. I do not think the men from the ship cared about losing him. They did not hunt for him long. Gigia gave them wine and we helped them search.’
Rhys took a breath. He’d invited this woman into his home, where his mother would meet her. This woman who seemed no more civilised than the rabbits she wished to protect and yet, he wanted to bury his face against her skin and forget.
‘I see.’ He frowned, repressing his notice of her as a woman. He certainly did not need to be noting the insignificant things about her.
‘From your face, I think you do.’ Instantly, her eyes pinched into a tilted scowl, her nose wrinkled. She mocked him. His mouth opened the barest bit. Yes, she’d jested.
‘Miss Cherroll,’ he spoke, beginning his reprimand, holding himself to the starched demeanour his father had used, one strong enough that even a royal would take notice of it. ‘Perhaps my mother could also be of some guidance to you.’
Lashes fluttered. A dash of sadness tinged her words, but the chin did not soften. ‘I am beyond repair.’
Bits of words fluttered through his mind, but none found their way to his lips. He took a moment appraising her, then caught himself, tamping down the sparking embers.
This would not be acceptable. He had survived his sister’s death. He had survived his father’s death. Geoff was gone. The duchess was failing. Rhys’s vision tunnelled around him, leaving only images from memory. He would take his own heart from his chest and wring it out with his two hands before he let it close to another person.
A Captain and a Rogue
She studied him. ‘Do you not believe in things you cannot touch? On voyages, you do not think some unseen spirit creates the wind?’
He shook his head. ‘I think there are things unexplained, but that doesn’t make them magical. It just makes them not understood. Men used to say a ship could sail off the end of the earth. But I think that was a tale started by seafaring men to make them appear brave. A man gets a little ale in him, a woman sitting on his knee and he’s likely to spout nonsense just to watch her eyes widen or hear her gasp.’
‘And she’s likely to pretend her awe just to see if she can convince him she believes his nonsense.’
‘So, do you believe in mermaids?’
She pressed her lips together before shaking her head. ‘Mermaids all died out because they couldn’t find a mate worthy of their esteem.’
He looked at her and then laughed. ‘We have to be thankful women are not so particular.’
‘True. We aren’t.’
He looked around. ‘So where is the treasure?’
She knelt, using the spade for balance, and picked up a shard of marble. ‘As a child I heard the stories of spirits roaming here.’ She turned the rock in her hands over, examining. ‘My mother must have said that to keep us from roaming too far. When the sun is overhead, I do not believe in the spirits, but in the dark...’ she met his gaze, and smiled—almost laughing at her next words ‘...I would not want to trip over one and discover myself wrong.’
A Captain and a Rogue
She studied him. ‘Do you not believe in things you cannot touch? On voyages, you do not think some unseen spirit creates the wind?’
He shook his head. ‘I think there are things unexplained, but that doesn’t make them magical. It just makes them not understood. Men used to say a ship could sail off the end of the earth. But I think that was a tale started by seafaring men to make them appear brave. A man gets a little ale in him, a woman sitting on his knee and he’s likely to spout nonsense just to watch her eyes widen or hear her gasp.’
‘And she’s likely to pretend her awe just to see if she can convince him she believes his nonsense.’
‘So, do you believe in mermaids?’
She pressed her lips together before shaking her head. ‘Mermaids all died out because they couldn’t find a mate worthy of their esteem.’
He looked at her and then laughed. ‘We have to be thankful women are not so particular.’
‘True. We aren’t.’
He looked around. ‘So where is the treasure?’
She knelt, using the spade for balance, and picked up a shard of marble. ‘As a child I heard the stories of spirits roaming here.’ She turned the rock in her hands over, examining. ‘My mother must have said that to keep us from roaming too far. When the sun is overhead, I do not believe in the spirits, but in the dark...’ she met his gaze, and smiled—almost laughing at her next words ‘...I would not want to trip over one and discover myself wrong.’
Safe in The Earl's Arms
Warrington put his words low, snapped them together and spoke to her. ‘Are you pleased with the discussion you have caused?’
‘The only grumbler is his lordship,’ Melina said.
‘You tell ’im, sweet,’ a voice rang out.
‘Anyone touches her, they go overboard,’ Warrington said, his voice not overly loud, but with enough force to take the sound to the tips of the sails.
‘Including the captain?’ someone asked from the shadows.
‘Especially the captain.’
Melina crossed her arms and put challenge in her voice. She turned to face him. ‘It is a good thing I am fond of his lordship, then, so no one will have to go into the sea.’ Her lips turned up and she put her chin closer to his. ‘Besides, he’s the only man who’s ever emptied my pails.’
Whistles sounded, mixed with a few muffled hoots.
He stepped sideways enough to hold the wheel with one hand and snake the other around her waist, pulling her so close she could feel the heat of his breath and hear his rough whisper. ‘I should never have brought you.’
She turned, her hair catching in the bristles on his chin. ‘I know,’ she replied in kind. ‘But I’m here and the ship can’t turn back.’
His fingers loosened on her waist and as she moved away, he took a step, scooping her closer. Before her feet settled, she found herself tucked between the wheel and a firm male. Both his hands steered Ascalon. She had room to breathe and little else.
‘You might as well learn to guide the ship.’ Warrington leaned to whisper to her ear. ‘You’re not going anywhere for a while.’
She tried to push away, but he trapped her and she couldn’t leave.
‘Let’s not let the seamen think we’re having a lovers’ quarrel,’ he whispered.
‘I don’t feel well.’ She spoke between gritted teeth.
‘Then try to miss the boots.'
Harlequin® books
Warrington put his words low, snapped them together and spoke to her. ‘Are you pleased with the discussion you have caused?’
‘The only grumbler is his lordship,’ Melina said.
‘You tell ’im, sweet,’ a voice rang out.
‘Anyone touches her, they go overboard,’ Warrington said, his voice not overly loud, but with enough force to take the sound to the tips of the sails.
‘Including the captain?’ someone asked from the shadows.
‘Especially the captain.’
Melina crossed her arms and put challenge in her voice. She turned to face him. ‘It is a good thing I am fond of his lordship, then, so no one will have to go into the sea.’ Her lips turned up and she put her chin closer to his. ‘Besides, he’s the only man who’s ever emptied my pails.’
Whistles sounded, mixed with a few muffled hoots.
He stepped sideways enough to hold the wheel with one hand and snake the other around her waist, pulling her so close she could feel the heat of his breath and hear his rough whisper. ‘I should never have brought you.’
She turned, her hair catching in the bristles on his chin. ‘I know,’ she replied in kind. ‘But I’m here and the ship can’t turn back.’
His fingers loosened on her waist and as she moved away, he took a step, scooping her closer. Before her feet settled, she found herself tucked between the wheel and a firm male. Both his hands steered Ascalon. She had room to breathe and little else.
‘You might as well learn to guide the ship.’ Warrington leaned to whisper to her ear. ‘You’re not going anywhere for a while.’
She tried to push away, but he trapped her and she couldn’t leave.
‘Let’s not let the seamen think we’re having a lovers’ quarrel,’ he whispered.
‘I don’t feel well.’ She spoke between gritted teeth.
‘Then try to miss the boots.'
Harlequin® books