Sophia James: The Wild Wellingham Brothers: High Seas To High Society / One Unashamed Night / One Illicit Night / The Dissolute Duke

Tucking the paper into the middle of a book to make certain that the edges were unseen, a new and more worrying thought struck her. Was this Asher Wellingham’s final goodbye gesture? Had he not said he would give her the map and provide transport home?

A knock at the door made her jump. The footman outside bowed his head as she caught his eye.

‘His Grace requests your company, my lady. He asked me to bring you to him directly.’

Resisting the temptation to go to the mirror and tidy her hair, she pulled at the material in her skirt so that it fell to a more decent length, a slice of pain worrying her side at the movement. Only a scar where the bullet had been extracted, the doctor hurried from London both skilful and competent.

She had been lucky in more ways than one; the McIlverrays were all dead and no longer a threat and the local constabulary was treating the whole incident as highway robbery. Asher with his wide connections had made certain that no trace of scandal ensued. Nothing to touch her. Nothing to hide from.

She smiled as she saw him standing against the open French doors. The gardens behind framed the blackness of his hair, and his clothes were casual, breeches tucked into brown boots and his white shirt open. Her heartbeat began to race as she pushed down the familiar, aching, breathless want for him.

Don’t touch him.

Don’t let him near.

Don’t let him see how much he has hurt me, could still hurt me.

‘Good morning, Emerald. You look well.’ He made no move to take her hand or come closer. There were no hooded glances or any suggestion of a shared intimacy. Rather he held back, unstintingly correct as he acknowledged her presence.

Today his eyes were the darkest that she had seen them, not even a shimmer of gold visible.

‘Thank you for the map.’ It was all that she could think of to say. After everything.

Wariness crept into his face. ‘You will return to Jamaica to search for its bounty?’

‘Yes. It should be easy to read the co-ordinates.’

‘How?’

‘How?’

‘How will you do that?’ His question was inflected with a controlled impatience and she was silent. What ship could she use? No one would give her credit in Jamaica and, with the loss of St Clair, she had neither property nor chattels to bargain with. A further lump blocked her throat. He would be rid of her this easily?

‘I am not certain.’ She made her voice even, indifferent, as though the matter of a vessel in which to travel was but a small and trifling consideration.

‘As I said, the Nautilus is due for a sea run.’

She could not quite understand what it was he was telling her.

‘If you needed passage, I could provide it.’ His voice held an iron edge of control as he spoke again.

‘Why?’

‘Because you were a virgin.’ So easily said. So dismissive of emotion.

She marched over until they were face to face. ‘I am not pregnant.’ The sheer stupidity of her remark made her blush, but his detachment was more hurtful than anything else and she didn’t want him to think that he was bound to her by non-existent ties.

‘My offer is not conditional on the production of an heir.’ She felt the whisper of his breath on her cheek before he moved back, and wanted to reach out and touch the warmth.

This whole conversation was so absurd she suddenly felt tired by it all. The hope. The lack of hope. The seesaw of emotion. The second-guessing as to how he felt. Love me? Love me not? Like the old game she had played as a child with the few other children who were allowed in her company. All she wanted to do was to step forward into his arms and feel their strength around her. Keeping her safe. From everything.

The low wheeling of a gull pulled her attention skywards. Today the weather was fresh, though a bank of clouds sat heavy in the west. There would be rain again later. She was certain of it. Unmindful, she drew her hand across the ache in her side.

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