A calculating gleam appeared in Addington’s eyes, then his mouth drew into a thin line. “I’m not a fool. Once you have the girl, you’d never back me. You’re saying this because you’re in love with her and would try anything to get her back.”
What was keeping Morgan?
He should be in place by now. Addington wasn’t going to stand here forever.
Declan forced a smile to his lips. “I’m sure you’re aware of my reputation with the ladies.” His condescending voice would have made Catrina proud. “They consider me a cold fish. I’ve yet to succumb to their charms.” He smoothed the folds of his cravat as if he hadn’t a care in the world, then raised an eyebrow at his adversary. “Do you
really
think I’d be enamored of a woman who dresses like a man and has a tongue as sharp as her blade?”
To his relief, Morgan straightened up from behind the capstan, then ducked under the bars used to wind the cables onto the giant barrel. He crept forward to within eight feet of Addington’s back.
“What assurances would—?”
Morgan yelled behind him. Addington’s eyes widened in surprise at the sound. “What?” He twisted and jerked his captive with him. The movement threw the two of them off balance. In his struggle to remain upright, Addington dropped the knife from Alex’s throat.
Declan’s voice split the air.
“Alex, run.”
It was the moment Alex had been waiting for. With a strength born of fury, she brought her heel back and connected squarely with Luther’s shin. Startled, he doubled over, and released her.
Morgan grabbed her arm and yanked her sideways. He gave a small grunt as she connected with his chest. They swayed for an instant before he got his feet under him.
She turned away from Morgan’s waistcoat at the hiss of two rapiers being drawn from their scabbards. The sound had always given her a sense of anticipation; now it filled her with dread.
Her gaze sought Declan. How much of what he’d said was the truth? She’d been hurt and angry, but those emotions seemed to fade as she realized he stood, dark and proud, with his rapier held at the ready. His face wore an expression she’d never seen. It seemed to have lost its humanity. Even the muscle in his jaw stood still.
She felt Morgan run a blade between her hands and cut the ropes that bound her. Rubbing her wrists, she stepped forward. She had to stop this. Morgan stepped around her.
Declan held out his hand, palm facing them. “He’s mine.”
It wasn’t so much the action, but his tone of voice that made them stand their ground. She turned to locate her cousin.
Luther stood, fair hair shining in the sunlight and hatred glowing in his eyes. In one hand he clutched the dagger she knew only too well and in the other his rapier. With a show of arrogance, he stuck the knife in his boot, then nodded to Declan.
As a young girl, she’d watched Luther practice his fencing skills. He excelled, but even then she recognized it was not the love of the sport but the love of the kill that gave him an edge.
There were no niceties exchanged. Her cousin came at Declan with purpose. In spite of the aggressive attack, Luther’s moves were calculated, his parries clean and precise.
Both men seemed to be trying to contain their movements. The ship’s cluttered deck, full of an assortment of ropes, eyebolts, and buckets, could cause the duel to be lost by distraction, rather than skill.
Their blades danced in the sunlight. Luther was smaller in stature and quick, but his extension couldn’t compete with Declan’s. Her cousin would attack, retreat, attack and retreat. Like a cat that toyed with its prey, staying just beyond his opponent’s lethal blade.
They’d pinked each other several times. Blood didn’t show on Declan’s shirt, and she had no idea how badly he’d been injured. Unlike Luther, his expression didn’t change when his opponent’s sword cut through the material on his chest.
Her cousin danced around Declan, vivid red ribbons etched across his white waistcoat like the claw marks of a wild animal. None of the wounds appeared to be very deep, but his movements started to show hesitation.
The sounds of sporadic fighting below, and the screech of the gulls above blended with the pounding of her heart. There was nothing she could do as the lethal battle continued. Even if she’d wanted to, she wouldn’t have been able to step into the fray. Morgan’s hand rested on her arm for more than support.
The opponents twisted and flexed as each tried to gain an advantage. Thrust, parry, thrust, parry in endless succession.
Luther began to take more risks.
He must be tiring.
She understood his strategy. The incredible bursts of speed were his attempt at ending the duel before he grew too tired to defend himself. It’s what she would have done.
The urgency of Luther’s attack put Declan on the offensive. Again and again, he beat back Luther’s desperate lunges. Declan’s parry fell short at an unusually quick thrust, and Luther’s blade passed through his sword arm. Luther pulled it free, a smile on his face.
The wound barely slowed Declan, but she knew he couldn’t keep up this pace. She wasn’t aware that she’d started forward until she felt Morgan tugging on her arm. Sweat broke out on her palms.
Declan was running out of time, and she suspected he knew it. He began to press his advantage. Keeping his blade at full extension, he forced her cousin backward. They battled past the companionway to the wheel. Luther’s smile faltered.
Blood dripped from Declan’s arm as he backed his opponent up as far as the fife rail around the mizzenmast. Luther thrust high. Declan caught the point in the material between his left arm and chest. The tip tangled in the fabric. Her cousin desperately tried to extract it, but Declan’s blade slid through his chest, between the rails, and into the mast. Luther’s eyes went wide with surprise.
Declan yanked his blade free and kicked Luther’s fallen rapier away from his body. He twisted, his gaze searching the ship until he saw her.
She couldn’t read his expression. What was he thinking? Relief and uncertainty fought for dominance. Her foolish actions had caused this. He had every right to be angry.
Declan stood looking at her. It was then she noticed Luther looming up behind him like a bloody ghoul. Rage distorted his features. Her cousin’s unsteady gait brought him within striking distance of Declan’s back. She could see the glint of her dagger in his hand.
In one motion, she swept her blade from its neck sheath.
Please.
The word echoed in her mind as the hilt flew from her fingertips.
Declan jumped to the left, his eyebrows raised, as her weapon sped past his right shoulder and landed in Luther’s throat.
Her cousin fell forward, the dagger still clenched in his hand.
Nobody moved.
Declan was the first to recover. He glanced back at Luther’s body, then strode over to her and gently touched her injured cheek. She heard the air leave his body for one long moment, as if he’d been holding his breath till then.
“Alex, I want to break our agreement.”
She backed away from him. All the old hurt and anger resurfaced. It was foolish of her to think this would change anything. With Luther gone, he was free to marry Catrina and force her into marriage with someone else. Pain shot through her. “Does killing Luther wipe away your debt to my grandfather? I thought you
needed
me to produce your heir.”
He grabbed her upper arms, his grip surprisingly strong in spite of the blood she could see soaking his shirt. He waited until she looked up, then stared into her eyes, desperation and something else in his gaze. It was the “something else” that made her heart beat faster. “What I
need
is to have you never leave me again. If you so much as go riding, I intend to be at your side.”
“But I thought—”
He gave her a slight shake, as though admonishing a child. “I’m in love with you, and I’ll not risk losing you again. I’ll marry you tonight if I have to.”
Hope filled her like a sail unfurled to catch the wind, but then she remembered his comments about her unladylike conduct. “I want to help with my estates, and don’t expect me to give up fencing and daggers. It’s who I am.”
The tension went out of his body, and he smiled that secret smile that warmed her insides. He lightly grasped her chin. “Why would I want a predictable society lady when my hoyden is so entertaining? Besides, how can I argue with a skill which saved my life?”
He gathered her to him, melding their bodies and lips as one.
Morgan’s smug voice reminded them they weren’t alone. “I’m thinking she’s been thanked enough. We need to see to the men.”
Startled, they both glanced over at Morgan. His brown eyes twinkling, he executed a small bow. “After all, we’ve a wedding to plan.”
My dearest Alex,
If you are reading this, perhaps you have forgiven me. I couldn’t tell you about Declan. You would have fought me if I had. I love you both, and I knew you belonged together. Try not to be too much of a trial for him, my dear, but perhaps a little spirit is not such a bad thing. You brought joy to my life, Alex, as I’m sure you will bring joy to Declan. Take care of each other.
Alex lowered the letter her grandfather’s solicitor had given her at the wedding feast. He’d been instructed to present it upon her marriage to Declan Devereaux, the Earl of Worthington. The poor solicitor had raised his bushy brows and asked if she and Declan had been betrothed a long time before their wedding. At her negative reply, he’d shaken his head, shrugged, and handed her an envelope.
She smiled. Her grandfather had known them well. Left on their own, they would never have given love a chance. She sighed, dropped the letter to her lap, and leaned back in the bedroom chair, listening for sounds from the crib where her six-month-old son slept.
Her husband had challenged Luther with more calm than he’d shown when faced with her pregnancy. He’d refused to leave her side during the long months and insisted on the best doctors, not being satisfied with one man’s opinion. It had been difficult, but she’d endured it because she understood what he feared.
Declan entered the room, his steps a whisper of sound on the plush carpet. He wore his traditional black, which was even more of a trial for Richards now that he was often covered with white cat hair.
Last Christmas, he’d given her a longhaired white kitten with the collar she had thought lost around its neck. Since that time,
Guardian
had not been far from Declan’s side. She could usually find him wrapped around the back of her husband’s neck. Alex understood the attraction. She liked wrapping her arms around his neck as well.
Declan crossed the room to peer into the cradle. Some day he might stop looking at their child with awe, but she hoped it wasn’t any time soon.
She joined him there, locked her hand in his, and gazed down at their son. His curly auburn hair stuck in damp tendrils to his forehead. Dominic Devereaux, the Earl of Lochsdale and future Earl of Worthington, lay fast asleep, one of the few times his blue eyes weren’t open and studying the world around him. She reached in the cradle and brought the blanket up to her son’s dimpled chin.
It scared her to think how close she’d come to losing this life with Declan. Thank God her cousin and his minion could never hurt them again. Lord Bradford had caught Luther’s accomplice trying to escape from the pier. She hadn’t gone to Spider’s hanging. It was enough to know her father’s and grandfather’s deaths had been avenged.