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

It hadn’t.

“I’ve seen no evidence that Captain Kinloch’s become an infidel,” he told them.

“Devil take it—”

“And do enlighten me as to which points I have evaded. I’ll be happy to clarify.” James shifted his gaze to Admiral Kenton and raised a brow. The three of them had been seated at this table for the better part of an hour, accomplishing nothing.

Admiral Wharton exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Damn me, but we should have taken the Henry’s Cross off the line.”

“Now is a bloody useless time to admit that,” James bit out. And nearly six hundred men were dead because of it. But he wasn’t here to repair the navy—he was here to be finished with it.

Admiral Kenton shifted impatiently in his chair and checked the notes he’d scratched. “Did you have an opportunity to inspect the hold?”

“For Christ’s sake, Kenton, we’ve been through this already. I won’t sit here and repeat myself.” No, the Possession hadn’t taken any ships while he was on board. No, there was no contraband in the hold. No, he hadn’t taken any jam with his rolls at breakfast. This was bloody ridiculous.

Wharton drank deeply from a glass of brandy, set it back on the table and looked at James. “With all due respect, Croston, you’ve done a damned sorry job of taking that woman to hand.”

“There’s been no reason to take her to hand,” James said.

“No reason!” Kenton exclaimed.

“Listen here, Croston. We cannot have a ship of questionable legality captained by a...a female renegade loose on the waters of the Mediterranean doing whatever the hell she bloody pleases. You were supposed to put an end to it.”

“If I’d seen her do anything illegal, anything even remotely contrary to the interests of the Crown, I would have.”

“For God’s sake, Croston—”

James leaned forward. “If you thought she was a pirate, you would have had her arrested by now. Someone would have come forward. Filed a complaint, made accusations. The Mediterranean is hardly a remote body of water. But you have nothing, because there is nothing.”

“Did you get a look at her papers?” Kenton asked. “Bills of lading?”

“And how would I have done that? Asked to see them? She would have laughed in my face. Understand, sirs, that I was little more than a guest on her vessel.” Quite a bit less, in fact, but the admirals did not need to know the details.

For a moment the only sound was the scratching of Kenton’s quill, and then he snorted. “Suppose there’s been more than a few guests in her vessel, eh?”

James’s fingers tightened reflexively around his glass.

Wharton noticed, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “Was she truly in command of her ship? Did she have the loyalty of her crew?”

“Yes. Hell, the Possession ran with better efficiency than any ship of the line I’ve ever seen.”

Wharton tucked his chin.

“And without a single unseemly activity on her captain’s part that I was aware of,” James added. “And I don’t have to tell either of you that on a ship that size everyone is aware of everything.”

One of Wharton’s bushy gray brows edged upward. “Defending her virtue, Croston?”

“Virtue!” Kenton exclaimed. “Rumor says she’s got some Moor’s bastard daughter.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Not to her virtue, it isn’t. Don’t believe all that stork business, do you, Croston?”

James quashed an urge to lunge across the table and grab Kenton by the throat. Instead, he reached into his coat and drew out his resignation letter. “I think we’re finished here, so I shall give you this.” He tossed the letter in front of Wharton. “My resignation.”

Wharton’s chin disappeared into his fleshy neck. “That’s preposterous. You’re in line for commodore.”

“Let someone else have it.”

“No.” Wharton shook his head, staring at the letter. “No. We need you.”

“What in God’s name for?”

“We need that woman under control! If she’s attainted, there’s no doubt she’ll leave England for good. We cannot let that happen—she’s been a nuisance long enough.” Wharton drummed his fingers tensely on the table. “She needs a husband.”

James’s heart sped up. “I’ll not accept that commission, either.”

Kenton blanched. “Good God!”

“I’d never suggest anything so preposterous,” Wharton thundered. “I have no fear of finding someone willing to acquire Dunscore through marriage. It’s her willingness that concerns me.” Now Wharton pinned his aging eyes on James. “We need you to arrange a marriage she will accept.”

James let out a laugh that felt like a strangle. “You’re trying to get me killed.”

Wharton scowled. “Are you saying—”

“What I’m saying, Admiral, is that Katherine Kinloch will accept nothing less than her birthright, free and clear.” And that I’ll kill any man that touches her.

No. God. He didn’t give a bloody damn who touched her.

“I plan to have her activities in London carefully observed.” Wharton leaned back in his chair, studying him intently. “The slightest hint that her loyalties do not lie squarely with the Crown, and she will be arrested.”

“What the devil for? She’s done nothing.”

“So you’ve reported for three years.” He looked at James meaningfully. “And yet we know that during that time she overran at least one Barbary ship. Likely two.”

“I reported those incidents when I learned of them.”

“And a fine gloss you put on them, too,” Kenton said. “An investigation into what you saw or didn’t see is not beyond the realm of possibility.”

James stared at him. “There’s no need to threaten me, Admiral.”

“Afraid we won’t like what we learn, Croston?”

“Not at all. I simply have business to attend to—” business that involved cognac and solitude and no tempting female sea captains “—and I dread the idea of anything interfering with its immediate commencement.” But already it was clear that there would be no immediate commencement.

An investigation. It could drag on for months—years—while they called his honorable service into question and accomplished nothing.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Bloody hell. Perhaps the admirals’ plan wasn’t so off the mark. Perhaps if Captain Kinloch married the right man—a peer, and one in good favor—then she would have Dunscore, and he could be done with this entire bloody business.

Right. As if she would ever consent to marry simply because it was expedient. As if any man in London could possibly deserve her.

“By all means,” he said irritably, “let me keep watch on Captain Kinloch while she’s in London and use my best efforts to barter her on the marriage mart.”

Wharton narrowed his eyes. “This is serious business, Croston.”

“You’ve made that clear.” James stood up. “Now. If you have nothing else, I must take the helm of my new command.”

* * *

BY THE TIME Katherine’s coach rolled up in front of Lord Deal’s that evening, fear had begun to take root.

She held the curtain aside with a finger and looked out. Lord Deal’s windows blazed festively in the night, and a line of carriages ejected beautifully dressed members of the beau monde in front of the door. She fisted her hand against the urge to pull the bell and order the coachman to drive past.

Tonight was necessary. She would reestablish her connection with Lord Deal and take note of people’s reaction to her—that was all. Lord Deal was well loved and had always been so kind to her. He would be an excellent ally. Yet still dread winged drunkenly through her belly, so she fixed her mind on Anne.

Anne warming herself by one of the fires in Dunscore’s great hall.

Anne pushing her fingers into the wet, gravelly sand on Dunscore’s shore.

Anne turning her face to the wind atop Dunscore’s ramparts.

The coach slowed to a stop. Katherine tried for a deep breath, but the corset prevented it. Madame Bouchard had outdone herself in a few hours’ time with the dark red silk and a black, bead-encrusted petticoat and stomacher that created a dramatic effect. Perhaps too dramatic, Katherine thought now. Too dark. The woman in the looking glass just before she’d left for Lord Deal’s looked nothing like the starry-eyed girl who had happily tasted the joys of her first Season twelve years ago. The touch of kohl around her eyes, the dark curls lying artfully across one shoulder, the flesh swelling high above her stays—they made her look wicked when she needed to be charming. Fallen when she needed to appear angelic.

The carriage door opened, and for several heartbeats she sat paralyzed by her own vulnerability. And then she forced herself to move. Jet beads sparkled on her red slippered toe as she extended her foot from the coach. Captive inside a prison of whalebone, she needed assistance even with this. Reaching out to the footman, she gripped his hand to climb out.

But the hand she gripped did not belong to the footman. It belonged to Captain Warre.

“A wise decision, leaving your cutlass behind this evening,” he murmured, helping her to the ground.

His touch rippled across her skin like a hot gust across a still sea as she stepped into the night, with panniers jutting out stiffly at her hips and stays making it impossible to breathe normally.

“I could hardly win society’s approval if I hadn’t.”

“Approval?” He raked his gaze over her, lingering in forbidden places. “My dear Captain, nobody will approve of you. Our goal is mitigation, not acquittal.”

The man who had swabbed her decks and polished her cannons was gone. In his place was not even a naval captain in blue, cream and gold, but the Earl of Croston in dark green brocade and a silver-embroidered waistcoat. A white shirt embellished with the subtlest ruffles lay stark against his sea-bronzed skin. At his side hung a Royal Navy sword.

His power hummed through her, and the physical connection of his hand was dangerously comforting.

“I am not on trial,” she whispered sharply, pulling from his grasp.

“On the contrary,” he said. “Every word that falls from your lips will be entered as evidence in the court of society’s opinion.” He gave her a look. “As well as every chair and footstool you pitch into the street.”

She scoffed. “I shed no blood.”

“Commendable indeed. In any case, it would seem I am to be your constant companion, according to the plan you outlined aboard the Possession.”

Her eyes locked with his in a mutual memory. Her back to the wall, his hands on her breasts. Her fingers in his hair, his tongue mating with hers. Bodies on fire. Her shove, his push. William’s fist.

Even now, a hint of yellowed purple marred his jaw.

“Excellent.” She offered her most predatory smile and hoped he didn’t see her shiver.

“But there will be no room for your tricks this evening,” he warned grimly. “More depends on society’s favor than I would wish. My brother will not be moved. His heart is involved, or so he believes.”

Her own heart sank. “Clarissa Holliswell.”

“Yes.”

Already the carriage was pulling away and another was coming up behind it. Captain Warre guided her toward the entrance, where music and light spilled from inside the house. A woman in front glanced over her shoulder and let her gaze sweep over Katherine. Behind them, more carriages arrived and more glittering fashionables picked their way toward the entrance. Their stares burned into her back.

“I spoke with a few men during a brief visit to Westminster,” he said under his breath as they climbed the steps. “It seems your unexpected return has sparked interest in the bill. It’s a good guess the second reading will be approved.”

A light-headed rush threatened her balance, but she recovered quickly. “It would seem your debt is proving more difficult to repay than you once imagined.”

His lips tightened to reply just as they swept into the house, and there was no more time for talking. The majordomo announced them. A commotion undulated through a crowd that was too large to be “intimate,” and all eyes turned their direction. The room fell silent and suddenly she was fifteen again, shimmering in her first real gown, gliding into her first assembly where every face held the hope of a new and exciting acquaintance.

They held no such hope now. The light-headedness returned with a vengeance.

“Steady,” Captain Warre murmured, seamlessly guiding her forward as the crowd found its voice again in a roar and a stately old man came toward them, beaming. The sight of him sent her reeling back even further through time, and for a breathless moment she was eight years old again, being shooed from Papa’s library.

“My dear Lady Dunscore,” he declared with a bow, kissing her hand. “Words cannot express my deep gratitude and delight at seeing you once again. It has been too long, my dear. Too long indeed.”

Mr. Allen was positively, irretrievably out of his mind. Instinct overcame time, and she curtsied deeply. “An honor, Lord Deal.”

“And, Croston,” he said to Captain Warre. “An honor and a relief, my good man. Ach—an honor and a relief.” Turning back to her, he lowered his voice and leaned close. “We have our work cut out for us, but don’t you worry. Too many wafflers not to win over a bare majority, and I don’t want that upstart cousin of yours for a neighbor.” He smiled at her with kindly brown eyes and winked, and the past made another grab for her mind.

“I have every confidence in your ability to persuade them, Lord Deal,” she said, though at the moment she felt very little confidence of any kind at all. Through a break in the crowd she spotted part of an elaborate confectionery display on a table along one side of the room. In its center sailed a ship constructed of sugar.

Good God.

Already an onslaught of well-wishers presented themselves to Captain Warre, proclaiming their amazement at his safe return while the melodious strains of an orchestra lilted from the far end of the ballroom. Some of the faces she remembered. Some she didn’t.

Furtive female eyes slid her direction from behind fluttering fans, at once curious and condemning. Less cautious male eyes appraised her with salacious approval. Their stares assaulted her like cannon fire from all sides and she felt herself being dragged back, dragged down, reduced into the small pile of helpless girl who’d been taken from the Merry Sea.

You know nothing about me. The scream pushed into her throat, but of course, she swallowed it. She waited for her senses to sharpen the way they did when a ship engaged her at sea, but instead she floundered beneath the weight of what they thought they knew. She could feel them measuring who she was against who she’d been, drawing conclusions based on their own imaginations.

They didn’t know one bloody thing about it. Someone—Lord Deal—pushed a glass of red wine into her hands. She took a drink and locked eyes with a devil in red and gold embroidery and a jet-black wig. He raked her shamelessly with his gaze.

“Whatever has put that glint in your eye,” Captain Warre whispered, “leave it be.”

“I was merely thinking perhaps I should have brought my cutlass, after all. I have a distinct impression that I’m being looked upon as prey.”

His eyes shot to the dark-haired rotter. “I shall deal with men like Winston, if the need arises. Your job is to appear demure, amiable and harmless.”

“Harmless!”

“Smile,” he ordered under his breath.

She curved her lips.

“We shall do this on my terms or not at all, my dear lady Captain. I’ll not allow your stubbornness to keep me in London a day longer than necessary. In fact, the evening’s tedium is lessening my sense of obligation as we speak.”

A hint of concern in his eyes belied the bite of his words, and it fueled her with a lick of irritation. “Need I remind you that I saved your life?”

“You say that as if you did me a boon.”

He pivoted for more introductions, and more, and more.

“Lady Dunscore!” a Lord Swope exclaimed, letting his eyes rest on Katherine’s bosom. “An utter fascination.”

“Indeed,” declared a Lord Tensy, grinning at Lord Swope’s side. “Almost makes me want to be shipwrecked myself—sorry, Croston. Terrible thing to say. Apologies.” He reached for Katherine’s hand and kissed it. “I am ever at your service, Lady Dunscore. And you have my deepest condolences. Your father was a capital fellow. Great friend.”

“The best,” Lord Swope said, and winked at her. “Never got to bed before four when old Dunscore was around.”

“Lost five hundred quid to him in one night,” Lord Tensy said. “Couldn’t begrudge him a’tall. Not a’tall. Never met a better gamer in all my life.”

Hopeful speculation in their eyes made it clear they wondered whether she would prove equally entertaining.

Lord Deal leaned close and steered her away. “You mustn’t look so grave, my dear. More than a few tight-arses in our company will warm to that stunning smile I saw a moment ago. Ach—here’s someone you may remember.” They joined a trio that included a wrinkled man in a ridiculous bagwig and purple waistcoat and a silver-wigged woman in an equally silver gown embroidered with a geometric pattern. “McCutcheon!” Lord Deal said heartily, addressing the other man in the group. “Excellent to see you as always. And Plumhurst...Lady Plumhurst. A pleasure indeed!”

McCutcheon. Oh, no. Years ago, she’d thought herself over the moon for him

“Unbelievable turn of events!” Lord Plumhurst cried, clasping Captain Warre’s hand. “Simply unbelievable!”

Katherine kept her attention squarely on that bagwig to avoid looking at Lord McCutcheon.

“What a dreadful experience you’ve had, Lord Croston,” the silver Lady Plumhurst said. “It’s a miracle you’re still with us.”

“Not so much a miracle as a very timely rescue,” Captain Warre told them evenly. “May I present to you my savior, Lady Dunscore.”

“Favorable currents were his savior, I’m afraid,” Katherine replied, “I merely pulled him from the water.” Finally there was no avoiding McCutcheon, and she found him regarding her with a mixture of horror and pity. The face that had sent her fifteen-year-old self into raptures seemed pasty and vapid next to Captain Warre.

“Merely!” cried Lord Deal.

“How fortunate that you possessed the necessary resources to help when needed,” McCutcheon said stiffly to Katherine.

Katherine—no longer the blushing debutante—looked him directly in the eye. “I gave the order to lower the nets the moment my crew spotted him floating on a piece of debris against the hull.” Stop looking at me that way, she wanted to snap. “We had him on deck in a matter of minutes. He was soaked through and nearly lifeless—we pulled him from the water just in time.”

“Lucky thing!” Lord Plumhurst declared. “Positively dreadful.”

Katherine nodded gravely. “You can imagine our distress.”

“And my relief when I realized I had run into the Possession,” Captain Warre added with a hint of sarcasm intended for her ears only.

She smiled. “I am only grateful we did not know his identity, or the moments before his rescue was complete would have been all the more tormenting.”

“When I saw her colors, I knew I would be well cared for and that my ordeal was over.” He turned his lying green gaze on her in a false display of the gravest appreciation. “It’s hardly an exaggeration to say that I owe Lady Dunscore my life.”

One might even say it was a boon.

“What an irony, after your attempts in Salé proved so fruitless,” McCutcheon said, turning to Captain Warre.

Salé. Katherine’s attention glanced off McCutcheon, fixed on Captain Warre. A chill ran down her spine.

“Isn’t it?” Captain Warre said mildly.

“The would-be rescuer becomes the rescuee,” Lady Plumhurst said, fanning herself vigorously. “Astounding.”

Rescuer. Captain Warre refused to meet her eyes. But she’d heard all she needed to—she could piece together the rest. Have you spent any time in the Barbary states, Captain? Oh, yes, he’d been there. Once. He’d simply omitted that it had been in an attempt to free her.

Her hands began to tremble. “Irony aside,” she said to McCutcheon, “you can only imagine how grateful I am to have had the opportunity to repay Lord Croston’s earnest efforts.” The full weight of what McCutcheon had just revealed bore down on her. She felt herself shrinking, reeling back to those first terrifying days in the dey’s palace, hoping she would be ransomed but hearing no news. “Although I daresay my attempts required less effort than his, and certainly met with less opposition.”

Lord Deal clapped his hands together. “Oh, but let us not delve into the melancholy past, shall we? What a blessing these two fine young people are both home safe and sound at last. And to think our dear Lady Dunscore was so providently used in such a miraculous rescue... It all smacks strongly of a divine hand, if I may say.”

“Divine indeed.” Captain Warre smiled at the crowd, still avoiding her gaze. “Lady Plumhurst, your daughter was recently married, was she not?”

He had been there. In Salé. And she was bloody well going to find out why he hadn’t told her.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Dear Sirs,

Observed Lady Dunscore at Lord Deal’s musicale. Confectionery ship on display. Remained on display after Her Ladyship departed. Perhaps too messy a prize.

Yours, etc.,

Croston

“JAMES, YOU’VE BEEN at sea far too long if you think there is anything acceptable about paying a call at this hour, even to your sister.” Honoria stood staunchly in the doorway to her dressing room, but James was in no mood for resistance. “You could at least have waited for me to dress and come downstairs,” she complained.

“I’ve got appointments this afternoon I can’t cancel,” he said, pushing past her.

“So amusing. You’re impossible, James. You’ve always been impossible.” All false outrage in a peacock-blue dressing gown covered in ribbons, she followed him into the room. “You may leave us, Mary,” she said to her lady’s maid. “And have a light breakfast sent up.”

“I can’t stay,” James told her.

“The breakfast is for me.” She went through to her bedchamber, and he followed as far as the open doorway. “I haven’t been out of bed half an hour yet.” Indeed, the bed lay rumpled behind her, and there was a pillow on the floor, and he suddenly wished he had waited for her downstairs. It was likely the same bed she’d shared with Ramsey before he died, and the idea of Ramsey touching his little sister—of anyone touching her, even within the bounds of marriage—was more than he could take on an empty stomach. He retreated to the dressing room.

A moment later she returned. “Are you really retiring?” she asked, putting her arms around him and looking hopefully into his face.

He looked down into a sea of misplaced adoration. “Where did you hear that?”

“This is London, James. Oh, please, say it’s true. I’ve missed you so much.”

“It’s true.”

“Oh, I’m overjoyed!” But looking into his eyes, she frowned. “What’s the matter?”

Katherine Kinloch was the matter. Nick was the matter. The Lords were the matter. His own bloody conscience was the matter. “Nothing’s the matter,” he said, and extricated himself from her embrace. “In thirty minutes I shall be taking Lady Dunscore on a strategic round of visiting instead of lingering at my breakfast table with the papers.”

And when he did, there would be no more avoiding a private moment with her as he’d successfully done last night. They would be together alone in the carriage, and there was no doubt that he would get an earful thanks to McCutcheon and his wagging tongue.

“James, I’ve never once known you to linger at the breakfast table. But in that case I forgive you for calling so early—if you tell me every detail about last night’s musicale. What an aggravation that I’d already accepted that invitation to dine with the Misses Cavely! But I never attend Lord Deal’s musicale. The average age of the attendees is above eighty, I daresay.” She turned a sly look on him. “I heard Lady Dunscore was fairly well received.”