The Wayward One by Danelle Harmon

Author:Danelle Harmon [Harmon, Danelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Historical, regency, Historical Romance
Amazon: B01BGAM6C2
Published: 2016-03-17T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Fuck, Hadley thought, in silent rage. He’d seen the look of stunned devastation on Lady Nerissa’s face. He’d seen her go white, then gray, before she’d run to the rail to puke her guts out. He’d heard of hostages falling in love with their captors or at least, taking their sides in things and defending them vehemently. Thank God he’d gotten to her in time. A hot bath and some decent food in her stomach, some skillful handling of both her and her brother, and he could hopefully undo the damage that O’ Devir (may his Irish carcass rot in hell) had wrought. Indeed, if he played his cards right, he could paint himself as both savior and hero and emerge from this debacle with Lady Nerissa’s affections transferred squarely to him in undying gratitude.

But he could not shake the thought that was foremost in his mind. Had O’ Devir compromised her? Had his way with her? Taken her innocence?

Tight-lipped, he looked at her standing there at the rail, her brother rubbing her back and offering a handkerchief so she could wipe her mouth. She had recovered somewhat, her shoulders set and stiff with pride, but she kept her back to him in silent, pointed rebuff as though he was the one who had done something wrong.

Or maybe, he told himself hopefully, she just didn’t want to look at O’ Devir’s corpse.

He did, though, and turning, allowed himself that indulgence. It would not do to smile, of course, and he schooled his face into a look of sober respect as he drank in the delicious sight of his dead rival. He was good at masking his emotions. He always had been. But triumph swelled his heart, and that triumph would sustain him when he eventually went to the grateful Duke of Blackheath to ask for the lady’s hand.

“Squall coming in from the west, sir.”

It was McPhee. Roused from his thoughts, Hadley followed the lieutenant’s gaze. Sure enough, dark, angry-looking clouds were piling up atop the distant horizon—no surprise, given the day’s heat.

“Finish up here. I want to get Lady Nerissa back to England as soon as possible before this scandal can blow sky-high.” He clapped his first lieutenant on the shoulder and grinned, unable to keep his good mood under such tight wraps any longer. “Any promising young lieutenant craves the chance to command, eh, Mr. McPhee? You will sail this brig back to London. She’s so new the worms haven’t even found her bottom yet. The rebels, if nothing else, build fine ships—she’ll fetch a good price at auction for us.”

The young Scot’s gaze flashed around Hadley’s epauletted shoulder. “Er, heads up, sir.”

Turning, Hadley saw the lady, head high and eyes flashing, coming back toward them. He smiled and inclined his head. “Are you ready to depart, Lady Nerissa?”

“No, I am not ready to depart. In fact, I am staying here,” she said flatly, and he sensed that beneath her veneer of strength she was about to shatter and doing her best to hide it, as her breeding and the expectations that accompanied it, demanded.

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