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

“There were ships anchored in the harbor,” Katherine told him evenly. “Ships the corsairs had taken as prizes. It was simple enough to take one of the longboats tied to the docks and row out.”

James frowned. There could have been nothing simple about that at all. The currents would likely have been strong and the harbor far from empty.

“Row out in the harbor at Algiers?” Ponsby asked incredulously. “A woman alone?”

“I was dressed in men’s clothes. And it was after midnight.”

Good God.

“And in fact, you were not alone, were you, Lady Dunscore,” De Lille said. “You were with Sir William Jaxbury.” He shifted his attention to the back of the room, where Jaxbury stood with a group of onlookers. “I presume you were the force behind such a suicidal escape?”

“Only if by ‘force’ you mean oarsman, Admiral,” Jaxbury said. “Lady Dunscore is a most determined woman, and braver than I.”

All eyes shifted back to her. Then again to Jaxbury. “I understand you were in captivity, as well, Sir Jaxbury.”

“Yes,” he said darkly.

“And I presume you escaped from your captor, as well.”

“Yes.”

“And the two of you met where, on the streets of Algiers?”

“Yes.”

A stark scenario coalesced in James’s mind. Katherine, alone and with child on the nighttime streets, dressed, most likely, in the clothes of one of her captor’s male slaves. She crosses paths with Jaxbury. The two of them scrape by on whatever they can, ducking into doorways and avoiding the sultan’s henchmen, plotting a way out of the country, toward which end Jaxbury draws on his experience at sea to suggest a dangerous plan.

“And the two of you, alone, snatched a prize out from under the corsairs’ noses?” Winston asked. “I find that exceedingly difficult to comprehend.”

“It was a small prize,” Katherine told him. “Only eight cannon.”

“Lady Dunscore,” Nick said, finally speaking. “You will understand, of course, that some of my colleagues are concerned about a member of the peerage who has demonstrated a tendency toward the unlawful.”

“Unlawful?” she said. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“You deny you have taken ships unprovoked?”

“I certainly do not deny it. But I was always justified.”

“By the promise of silks and spices? That smacks mightily of piracy, Lady Dunscore.”

“By the knowledge that my prey had come by its spoils by being a predator.”

“A questionable activity at best,” De Lille interjected.

“But one that resulted in the liberation of more than one Englishman, as this committee well knows. My prize-taking activities have been strictly limited to ships far more questionable than mine. As for my present circumstances, rest assured I know nothing about robbing stagecoaches or burgling slumbering widows.”

“Relieved to hear it, Lady Dunscore,” Rondale declared from the end of the table.

“At least our travelers and widows may rest easy,” Edrington said, glancing down the table at Winston, “even if gentlemen hopeful of producing children may not.” Uneasy laughter went up from the gallery.

“I have only the deepest respect for Lady Dunscore’s skill with a cutlass,” Winston replied with a half smile.

De Lille tucked his chin and assessed Katherine over the top of his spectacles. “What of your plans to marry, Lady Dunscore?” he demanded. “Certainly you do not plan to manage an estate the size of Dunscore alone.”

Around the room, half the men both on and off the committee had turned their attention to Katherine, no doubt salivating at the thought of having both her wealth and her body at their disposal.

James’s blood ran cold.

But Katherine merely offered that smile he was becoming too familiar with, one he’d seen night after night watching her fend off every lecher in the ton. “What a creative suggestion, Lord De Lille. My only regret is that you are not unattached.”

A member three seats away erupted in a fit of coughing. Lord De Lille’s face dove into a wrinkled scowl.

“Perhaps Croston ought to marry her,” Winston suggested, shifting his attention to James. “He seems to take her in hand well enough.”

Damn the man. “A ship can only have one captain,” James said dryly, “and I prefer to be it.”

Ponsby barked a laugh. “You’ve taken enough prizes in your day, I’ll avow you know how to master that situation.”

“You have a point.” Somehow he managed to form his mouth into what he hoped was a pleasant smile. “But may I suggest the committee return to a more salient topic.”

“Indeed,” Edrington said, leaning forward to look down the table at his colleague. “The basis of this folly of a bill has no foundation in Lady Dunscore’s marital status.”

“Perhaps not,” De Lille replied, “but its resolution may.”

“We are not here to arrange Lady Dunscore’s marriage,” Edrington shot back. “We’re here to get at the facts!”

“Precisely,” Nick agreed, for once doing something to steer things in the right direction. “Lady Dunscore, I have here a list of a number of your exploits in the Mediterranean. Perhaps you can give us the details of each—”

“Blast the bloody details!” Edrington exclaimed. “I fail to see why this bill lives on in the face of the fact that this woman saved Croston’s life. Do we have any evidence at all that she has acted against the Crown? Violated the law of the sea? Has anyone made a complaint?”

“She sailed under her own colors,” Nick reminded them, and James wanted to grab him by the throat to keep him from speaking. “And we do have evidence that she took prizes from across the Barbary coast.”

“Then by God, give the woman a medal!” De Lille exploded.

“Need I remind you we are trying to maintain peaceful relations with the Barbary states for the safety of our merchant trade?”

“Peaceful,” Edrington spat. “Those bloody curs have no honor. They’ll agree to peace with one hand and take our ships with the other. This woman has saved not only Croston, but other British subjects—the dowager countess of Pennington, for one, and Cantwell’s daughter Lady India, for another. Clearly she has acted not against the Crown, but in its interests.”

“Has she?” Ponsby demanded, staring down the table at Edrington. “I believe Lord Edrington has information relevant to this discussion that he planned to withhold from us today.”

Edrington’s expression turned stony. “I brought no information.”

“No doubt you didn’t,” Ponsby scoffed. “But I believe this committee should know that not three days past, Lord Edrington shared with me an affidavit he’d procured from one of Lady Dunscore’s crew alleging that she did not, in fact, intend to save Croston at all. Rather, her initial order was to leave him to die in the water.”

James looked at Katherine. A moment of fear in her eyes confirmed the truth. Bloody hell, this could ruin everything.

“Is it true, Lady Dunscore?” Ponsby demanded.

“Taking a stranger aboard a ship with a skeleton crew was a foolish thing to do,” James told them before she could answer. “My respect for Lady Dunscore’s judgment as a sea captain would seriously decline if I thought it might not be true. She had no way to know whether I was friend or foe, as the wreck happened at night when I was not wearing my uniform. There was nothing to mark me as British—quite the opposite, in fact, given my natural coloring. Moreover, I could have been carrying any number of diseases that might have killed everyone on board. Whether we like it or not, there is no duty to rescue.”

“Don’t like it,” De Lille muttered. “Never have.”

Ponsby frowned at him. “And it doesn’t bother you, Croston, that you might have been left to perish?”

“By all rights, I should have perished the night of the wreck,” he said flatly. “This line of inquiry has no bearing on the bill before this committee. If anything, it shows more clearly the risk Lady Dunscore was ultimately willing to take to help another.” You should know that I’ve forgiven you. Now he had a good idea why.

Winston spoke up, addressing Jaxbury. “What have you to say about that day, Jaxbury?”

“Only that Lady Dunscore was acting out of care and concern for her crew. And that a young child was aboard.”

“Your daughter,” Winston said to Katherine.

“Who also has no bearing on this discussion,” James said. He’d be damned if he’d allow them to drag Anne’s legitimacy into this.

Ponsby studied Katherine. “Ultimately, you chose to take the risk and bring Croston aboard. Why?”

“My ship’s surgeon was of the opinion that the man in the water had been adrift for several days, and that a diseased person would not have survived that long without food and water.”

It sounded cold, even though the reasoning was sound. Fear of what might have happened gripped him, and he pushed it away.

“For God’s sake, I’ve heard enough,” De Lille blustered. “If Croston says he should have been left behind, who are we to disagree with him? I, for one, would be prepared to dispense with all this if Lady Dunscore will agree to find a husband.”

James’s lungs constricted. There was a murmur of agreement, punctuated by a snort of derision and more than a few sharply worded dissents. Winston, chairing the committee, cast long glances to his right and left, then looked at Katherine and smiled. “You will be informed of the committee’s recommendation on this matter, Lady Dunscore. Prior to that, if it does so happen that you should enter into a marriage contract...clearly, the committee would be most interested.”

Bloody living hell.

“This committee is adjourned!”

Nothing had been resolved. Not one bloody thing. They could not force her to marry, but it was obvious they hoped to try. He looked at Katherine, hoping to see her reaction, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Lord Deal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

MARRIAGE. KATHERINE STRUGGLED to draw breath even though Winston’s words only confirmed what she’d already known. A husband was the only way to put an end to this. She simply hadn’t wanted to accept the truth.

The committee room erupted in commotion with the bang of Lord De Lille’s gavel. She didn’t dare look at Captain Warre. Instead, she pushed to her feet and made straight for Lord Deal with the weight of decision closing around her.

The committee’s implication was clear, and only a fool would ignore it. She needed a husband, and she would have one—but not one of the libertines who hoped to use Dunscore’s wealth to finance their excesses while slaking their lust in her bed. And not someone who might yet live thirty or fifty years before setting her free.

A man who would not interfere with her running of Dunscore.

Who would be kind to Anne.

Who would only have the strength for the marriage bed twice yearly.

“Don’t worry, Katie,” Lord Deal said close to her ear. “Just come to Scotland. It’s past time you returned to Dunscore anyhow—we shall both journey north, and once we’re there we’ll work out an arrangement that will be to everyone’s satisfaction.”

Yes, they would—but not in the way he meant. It was all but certain he was imagining pairing her with any number of eligible young Scotsmen. But once safely at Dunscore, she would make sure Lord Deal understood there was only one arrangement she would accept.

She looked into those kindly brown eyes and imagined being with him the way she’d been with Mejdan. “I can be ready in a matter of days,” she told him, even as something inside her curled up tight.

William pushed in next to her and gripped her arm. “The offer I made last night,” he whispered urgently. “I will renew it, if it will help.”

“I am honored, William,” she murmured, “but there is no need. I plan to work out a solution with Lord Deal.” Marriage to William would be a disaster, and would hardly satisfy the Lords—he was as suspect as she.

His expression hardened, and she watched comprehension dawn. “Don’t like it, Katherine. There’s got to be a better way.”

Just then Captain Warre joined them. “A better way than what?”

William’s mouth clamped shut, and deep inside, something began to keen. “Anne and I will be traveling to Scotland shortly.” William was wrong. There was no better way.

“Hell of a thing, Croston,” Lord Deal said, shaking his head. “Never seen anything like it.”

“Indeed not.” Captain Warre lowered his voice. “I’ll call on you later today,” he said. “We’ll discuss what to do next.”

But she already knew what to do next, and it didn’t help matters to be standing here next to him, looking at him, yearning so deeply to reach for him, to touch him just one more time before—

God help her, she needed to get away from here. Longing for Captain Warre would only weigh her down. “We should travel as soon as possible,” she told Lord Deal. “I must go home at once and begin preparations. Please excuse me.”

“Katherine—”

She ignored Captain Warre calling after her as she hurried away. Whatever debt he thought he owed her, certainly now he realized he was free.

And it would be fine. She’d done this before—or near enough—and she could do it again. At least Lord Deal wasn’t a stranger, and he was kind. And, as Mr. Allen had so mercilessly implied, soon enough she would be free. May God forgive her.

She rushed into her waiting coach, chased by the reality that her association with Captain Warre was finally over, and that Papa’s best friend would shortly become her husband.

But she had barely settled against the seat before the door wrenched open again and Captain Warre lurched inside as the coach pulled away. Her heart thrilled at the sight of him for one beat, then two, before a cruel hand reached into her chest and squeezed hard.

“Suppose you tell me about this ‘offer’ William made to you, and about the ‘solution’ with Deal that makes it unnecessary.”

Heartache spread like fire. She couldn’t have smiled if she wanted to. “Instead, suppose you explain why you chose to waylay my coach instead of paying a call.”

“What solution?”

She couldn’t discuss this with him—not when she knew he looked with pity on her time with Mejdan. Not when she could barely stand the sinking feeling of leading herself into captivity even as everything inside her wanted something more.

“As you saw for yourself last night,” she said, deliberately addressing the first part of his question instead of the second, “William was drunk. And anyhow, not even the soberest offer of marriage from William could ever be serious. Surely you know him well enough to agree.”

“I would have thought so.”

“A ship can only have one captain, after all.” She reminded him of his own words. “And William is not anxious to place himself under a woman’s command.”

The corners of his eyes creased, but only just. “Understandably so. I had the impression this offer was serious, however, because he feared the alternative.”

“For no good reason. The committee only confirmed what I’ve suspected and what I imagine you’ve known—that marriage would put a quick end to all this. I can’t believe you have any objection, as news of my engagement will certainly release you from your debt to me.”

Something deadly flashed in his eyes, but he merely shrugged. “Interesting plan.”

It hurt too much to look at him, so she turned her face to the window. This was not the way to her house. “Where are we going?” she asked sharply.

“I’ve ordered your coachman to take a detour through the countryside.”

Her breath turned shallow. “And your own coach?”

“Sent it home.”

“I see.” Dangerous possibilities careened through her imagination. Dangerous yearnings. “I don’t suppose you know of anyone looking for a wife?” she said, because Captain Warre on the defensive was so much easier to deal with.

“Not anyone willing to face the blade of your cutlass every time he wishes to bed you.”

The look in his eyes said clearly that he would find her cutlass no obstacle. Heat flooded her most secret places. “But, Captain, what kind of wife would I be if I did not allow my husband to bed me whenever he wishes?” It was imperative to keep him at arm’s length, because every part of her wanted to be in his arms. The reaction in his eyes was exactly what she’d hoped for. “And I intend to be a most dutiful wife,” she added, just to goad him. “In fact, I doubt my cutlass will play much of a role in the marriage at all. I don’t plan to marry a man who requires such measures to form, shall we say, a meeting of the minds.”

“Only the feeblest man would fit that specification.” The moment the words were out, he narrowed his eyes. “Good God. That’s precisely what you’re thinking, isn’t it. This ‘solution’ William objects to—you’re planning to marry someone too old to care about your reputation or your fortune, who will soon leave you safely widowed. Good God.” He stared hard now. “You’re going to marry Deal.”

She hadn’t wanted him to find out until after she’d left for Scotland. “You make it sound so mercenary.”

“It’s nothing if not that. Bloody hell.” His eyes turned that familiar stormy green. “No wonder William renewed his offer. I would offer for you myself to keep you from such a disgusting plan.”

A horrible pain caught her in the chest even though his cruel words only confirmed what she already knew. “And I would refuse you as I refused him.” And wouldn’t he be relieved.

It was impossible to look at him without an assault of memories: his mouth on fire against hers, his hands burning her flesh, his words giving her strength when she’d had none. The keening inside her broke into a silent wail.

He leaned across the coach, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’ll not allow you to throw yourself like a bone to some old limpstaff who doesn’t deserve you.” A simmering fury in his eyes told her he was imagining Lord Deal in her marriage bed. His face was inches from hers, so close she could see the flecks of brown in his green eyes. So close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. She wanted to taste them, just one more time. Just once, she would have liked to give everything to a man she chose.

“If I intend to have a legitimate heir, I can’t afford to waste my time with a limpstaff,” she scoffed, goading him. “Rest assured I will make sure of Lord Deal’s virility before the marriage takes place.”

“Bloody hell.” It was the last thing he said before he pulled her to him and kissed her. His mouth was brutal, punishing, and the taste of him poured across her tongue like heaven. “Half of London lays awake at night thinking about how to get between your thighs,” he said against her lips. “I want to kill every last one of them.”

His possessiveness made her shudder. “There’s no need, Captain. None of them will succeed.”

* * *

THEY MIGHT NOT, but James would succeed, and he was through waiting.

He half stood and leaned across the coach, pulling her to him more forcefully than he meant to, crushing his mouth down on hers again to drink the heady taste of her. She responded instantly, and his body surged. Her lips were soft, and her tongue slid across his like velvet, stoking the fire inside him. A small voice whispered no, this wasn’t the place, but then her hands touched his face and the rush of blood in his veins silenced the warning.

He had the preservative in his pocket, and this torment would end here. Now.

The coach jolted and he fell back to his seat, taking her with him in a mass of skirts that drowned his legs. The cold sheath of the cutlass hidden inside all that fabric tapped his leg, but she would have no desire to use it. He would see to that.

He invaded her mouth more and more deeply, trying to get enough of her, but it was impossible. Her scent drove him mad. He kissed her throat and neck, ran his tongue along her jaw. “I want you at my command, Katherine,” he breathed against her ear, knowing full well the effect it would have, and she did not disappoint.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “I will be at no man’s command ever again—” he nipped the base of her neck and she gasped “—Captain.”

That was up for debate, but one thing was sure: he was through being “Captain” to her. He pushed her gown off her shoulders and slipped his hands inside her stays, freeing her breasts. Christ, the sight of their creamy perfection nearly pushed him over the edge. They were proud like she was, sitting high over the top of the stays, and their round softness filled his hands. Puckered, dusky areolas bewitched him and he took one in his mouth, sucking hard, satisfied when her head fell back on a ragged gasp. He pulled with his lips, nipped with his teeth, rolled her between his fingers until she was clinging to him, breathless and crying out with need.

He was so hard he could barely think. Her fingers dug into his hair, holding him to her breasts one moment, sliding down and gripping his shoulders the next. She was half-crazed, fire in his arms, and he had to touch her. Madly he yanked at her skirts until he freed her legs and had her seated open-thighed across his lap. He reached behind her, fighting yards of fabric to find her skin. His hands skimmed across silky buttocks, and he found home between her thighs. She was wet. Hot. He pushed one finger inside her, then two. Her opening constricted around him.

“Touch me, Katherine,” he rasped, but she was already there. Her hands moved over the front of his breeches—too slow, too soft. His breeches were so tight it hurt. Ah, God—he undid the fastening and his erection sprang into her hands and he groaned. Her fingers tightened around him and he fought for control, gasping into her mouth on a kiss deeper than the ocean. Faster, deeper he stroked her. It wasn’t enough. He needed more—needed to be inside her. When her hands slid down his shaft and cupped his sac, he snapped.

He withdrew his fingers and grasped her buttocks, kissing her hard as he lifted her over him. He felt his erection breach her opening. Felt her tight heat swallow the rest of him in one, hard stroke when he pushed inside her. Ah, God—God—

He couldn’t go slow. She cried out against his lips, but he devoured the sound with his kiss and thrust into her hard and then harder, fast and then faster. Finally she was his. His. And still it wasn’t enough. Her hips matched his savage rhythm, taking him to the hilt with every thrust, but he wanted more. He wanted every bloody thing she had.

She panted against his mouth, clinging to him. He looked at her lips, wet and swollen from his kiss. Fixed his gaze on those half-closed topaz eyes, drunk now with desire. And then he felt her begin to tighten around him and knew he was about to make her come to her peak.

He drove into her even harder. “Katherine,” he rasped. Ah, God—he watched her face as the pleasure took her and she tightened around him harder, harder, convulsing in waves around his shaft.

Her fingers gripped his shoulders. “James!”

And that was all it took. The sound of his name on her lips drove him over the edge. He dug his hands into her buttocks and surrendered, buried deep inside her. The release ripped through his body and into hers and left him mindless. Voiceless.

And still—still—it wasn’t enough to satisfy him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

KATHERINE SHUDDERED, GRIPPED by waves of pleasure so intense they entirely controlled her. She tried to think, tried to regain her senses, but they’d been lost—stolen, along with her breath.

She’d never known.

She closed her eyes and felt herself pulse around him tightly. Intimately. Felt him throb in reaction.

“Never known what?” he asked in a rough, throaty voice, and she realized with dismay she’d breathed the words out loud.

Another shudder, this one less intense. She opened her eyes, only to have her gaze land in the space between them where her bare breasts jutted out above her stays.

“Nothing,” she said, unwilling to let him know how much of what they had just done had been new. He expected her to be experienced—assumed she was, and there was no reason to let him suspect how little she really knew.