The Rake's Inherited Courtesan (23 page)

The
Free Spirit
slipped her moorings and eased out of her berth.

Christopher walked to the stern, keeping his gaze fixed on Garth’s back, now just a black speck, until he could no longer discern him from the rest of the teeming ant-like masses scurrying along the shoreline.

Returning to the rail, he kept his gaze fixed on land, determined to see the last of England before he went below to his stateroom.

It was an over-luxurious apartment for a merchantman, but this was his ship. He glanced around with pride at the gleaming decks and smartly turned-out crew. He acknowledged the captain’s salute with a nod. He lacked the sense of excitement he’d once felt for this ship, yet his pride remained—after all, it belonged to him.

He returned his attention to the horizon. The wind picked up and the ship heeled over, making every yard of canvas count. The sun escaped the confines of billowing grey-and-silver clouds, making steely waves shimmer like pirate’s treasure. Far off, the cliffs gleamed like brilliant sails, the ancient walls of Dover Castle a turreted crow’s nest against the skyline. The great ship of England was departing, leaving him alone on an insignificant wooden platform, marooned in a vast ocean, perhaps never to see it again.

The clouds returned to gobble great bites out of the light
and the coast became a faint smudge in the distance above sluggish grey-green water.

Somewhere along that smudge he had first set eyes on Sylvia. She had been so solitary at his uncle’s funeral. Alone, but bright and hard-edged like a polished jewel. It wasn’t until he’d looked deep beneath the glittering facets that he’d found the fire of her soul. But once found, there was no forgetting its heat.

As the ship drew further from shore, he realised no distance would be far enough to allow him to forget. He struck the rail with his fist. Shockwaves vibrated up his arm and jarred the hollow emptiness in his chest. He clenched his jaw. Nothing, not even sheer physical strength, could change what had happened.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to calmness. Sylvia deserved better. The Duke had put it succinctly the morning Christopher had gone to make his offer of marriage. All her life, she had been deprived of the privileges of her birth. It was Huntingdon’s avowed intention to restore everything Rafter had stolen from her.

Everything. Including a brilliant marriage.

Forced to agree with Huntingdon, he hadn’t flinched when the Duke had suggested it might be better if Christopher left London. He was a distraction and a possible cause of gossip. He’d made his plans to leave for America the same day.

Hell. He had always wanted to go to the New World. It was a land where men stood or fell by their own abilities, their wits, their physical strength, not by who their father was, or the order of their emergence from the womb.

His cabin was filled with books about the new country he was about to embrace. They would keep his mind off his regrets. He turned away from the sight of land.

A lone figure, slight, windblown, leaned against the mast.

Sylvia? Strands of gold hair lashed her rosy cheeks. Her bright blue gaze held steady on his face.

Half-expecting to find some kind of mystical sea beast had enchanted him, he gazed around the ship. He was dreaming, only now he was doing it in the daytime.

He shook his head to clear his vision. But this was no mirage. This was a living breathing Sylvia.

She braced one hand against the mast and cocked her head in question.

What the hell had she done? If word got out, she’d be ruined. His feet seemed glued in place.

Despite Garth’s assurances, Sylvia hadn’t been completely convinced Christopher would be happy to see her. At the sight of his shocked face, the deck began to crumble beneath her feet.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he shouted against the wind.

She forced herself to remain still, not to throw herself against his broad chest and beg him to let her stay. ‘I’m going to America.’

He strode across the deck and grasped her shoulders, his eyes full of green fury. ‘What are you talking about?’

She took a deep breath and flung herself trustingly over the edge of the precipice of her pride. ‘I love you and I’m coming with you.’

Stark horror filled his expression. ‘You can’t.’

She was in a headlong fall and Christopher hadn’t made a move to catch her. ‘You don’t have to marry me,’ she gabbled. ‘I’ll leave whenever you get tired of me. But I won’t spend my life waiting.’

He shook his head.

Oh, God. He was going to let her shatter in a million pieces at his feet.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘You have to go back.’

Sharp rocks of despair rushed up to meet her. He didn’t want her. He really didn’t.

She began to pull away.

He caught her hand. ‘Your father. He’s only just found you. He’ll be devastated.’

This was about them, her and Christopher. ‘He knows. He doesn’t like it, but he understands. Christopher, please.’

His lashes swept down, blocking his thoughts, deep lines etching the sides of his mouth.

The ship rolled and bucked beneath her feet; the sound of the wind reverberated like thunder in the sails and hummed in the rigging. Her hair whipped at her face, salty and damp. Each second crawled like an hour, while she waited for his denial.

He opened his eyes. Powerful yearning and fierce possessiveness burned deep in their gleaming emerald depths. ‘Sylvia. My love.’

He pulled her tight against his warm, hard body. He bent his head and found her mouth with his. Crushed in his arms, his heart beating steadily against her chest, the pure delight in his voice ringing in her ears, her fear faded like sea mist.

She floated to the ground as light as thistledown, caught firmly in his arms.

‘Oh, God,’ he whispered against her mouth. ‘I love you so much. I thought I’d come back and find you married to a bloody marquess or an earl.’

He tilted her chin until he could look into her eyes. ‘You’re absolutely sure about this?’ Anxiety roughened his voice.

She didn’t try to hide the tears of joy blurring her sight. She nodded.

His hand came up and freed her hair from its pins. It swirled around them, a shimmering veil of gold. ‘I love you.’ His mouth covered hers with infinite tenderness.

A boom thundered overhead and they looked up.

A red flare streaked above them. ‘What the devil…?’ Christopher muttered.

‘
Sea Witch
on the port bow, sir,’ the captain called.

Sylvia laughed at the ludicrous expression of surprise on Christopher’s face when they went to the rail.

‘How the hell did Garth get my mother on that ship?’

Sylvia felt the heat rise in her cheeks and looked down at the deck. Now he would know they were all in the plot.

‘Bloody hell. And your father and brother. They’re all on the
Witch
.’

Sylvia peeped over the rail at the madly waving crowd on the deck of Garth’s yacht and waved back. A string of coloured flags climbed the mast.

‘Message from the
Sea Witch
, sir.’

‘Well?’ Christopher said, his mouth quirking at the corners.

‘It says “marry the girl”, sir.’

Christopher fumbled at his neck, pulling at his neckcloth.

Braced against the ship’s rail, Sylvia held her breath, suddenly unsure. He pulled free a chain and opened the clasp. A gold circle encrusted with diamonds and sapphires lay on his palm. Christopher took her hand and went down on one knee.

‘My lady, would you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?’

A huge burning lump blocked her throat and made her eyes water.

He gripped her hand. ‘Sylvia,’ he said. ‘For God’s sake. Will you?’

‘Yes.’ She laughed through her tears. ‘Oh, yes. I will.’

He leaped up, slipped the ring on her finger and crushed her to his chest.

‘Sir,’ the captain said. They turned to face him. He wore a huge grin and beside him stood a parson with a bible in his hand.

‘Garth managed to find a cleric who wanted to travel to America,’ Sylvia explained at his look of amazement.

More rockets burst overhead. Christopher glanced over the rail at the upturned faces of the expectant, but distant, bridal party and raised a questioning brow.

‘Shall I begin, sir?’ the parson asked.

Christopher encircled Sylvia in the warmth of his strong arms and his chuckle reverberated through her body.

‘What the hell are you waiting for, man? Begin. Time is wasting and we’ve some catching up to do.’