Forty-two

“Mr. Stalk, please ask Miss St. James to join us on deck.” Dare hoped he was not committing the biggest mistake of his life.

Complete silence fell over the two crews, broken only by the occasional creaking of the ships as, lashed together, they rode the waves. Everyone stared at the open hatch, wondering what might emerge. Slowly, a bonnet appeared, and with no apparent distress or hurry, the figure of a woman became visible.

Emma kept the brim of her bonnet low, looking down to ensure her steps on the steep, narrow hatch stairs. She was dressed all in white, as if emerging for her coming-out ball, beautiful and unsullied by the ugliness of life around her. She paused a moment once she was standing on deck before lifting her chin, revealing her face to all assembled.

An audible gasp came from the crews of both ships. Dare had seen her every day for the past week and still his breath caught at her beauty. Her rosy cheeks, pure-blue eyes, and primrose mouth were a vision to behold. Blond curls escaped the bonnet and framed her face to charming effect.

She surveyed the assembled men and gave the company a gracious nod of her head. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

“But that’s the chit from the—” Whatever the sailor was going to say was instantly silenced by Tobias, who slammed his good fist into the man’s head, knocking him to the deck. Tobias bowed low to Emma and stood behind her with a menacing glare at all who faced her, her self-proclaimed protector.

The indomitable Miss St. James gave the crowd a warm smile and more than one sailor stood up straighter and tipped his cap. She looked as if she had walked into the hallowed halls of Almack’s itself. The men knew how to act at war. The men generally knew how to act in the presence of a lady. Put the two together and everyone was off balance.

“If you think trotting your trollop out on deck will make me spare your life, you are sadly mistaken.” Harcourt had overcome his initial surprise and narrowed his eyes once more into a penetrating leer.

“I do not require your leniency, for I will grant you none of my own. My request is simple—to witness my wedding. Then, we may proceed.” It occurred to Dare, belatedly, that perhaps he should have asked Emma to marry him before announcing this to all the ship. If she should refuse him now, it would make him look the fool and put her in grave danger. The first was of no consequence, but the latter was untenable.

He sought her eyes and held them. Please, please understand, he tried to send her the silent message. He was going into mortal combat with Harcourt, a dangerous man and formidable opponent. If Dare should fall, Harcourt would take the ship and find Emma. Harcourt would think her a common doxy, even Dare’s own crew would think the same, and she would be subjected to the worst treatment imaginable and either dumped at some port as a common whore or simply thrown overboard when the crew was done with her.

“Considering my current situation,” said Dare, too far into it to back down now, “I will write in the presence of these witnesses, my last will and testament.” He nodded at Everett, who scrambled below, returning with paper and quill.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” muttered Everett, turning around so Dare could use his back to write on.

“I hope so too,” murmured Dare in an undertone. “If I should fail…”

“Don’t fail,” said Everett in an urgent hiss.

Dare scratched out several lines, containing the most important aspects of his will. He hoped to live, but if he did not, he had to protect Emma even in death. Harcourt glared but made no attempt to stop him, waiting to see if the terms he had written were to his liking.

“There. I have completed my will, in which I leave all my worldly possessions to my future wife, Miss Emma St. James,” said Dare in a loud voice. “Mr. Everett, if you would sign as a witness.” Dare turned and Everett put the paper to Dare’s back to sign his name.

Emma’s only chance, should Dare fail, would be to have some value in the eyes of Captain Harcourt. As the widowed Countess of Darington, Emma would inherit everything. Harcourt would certainly not let the opportunity slip by to take advantage of the situation. It was still bad for Emma, but at least it brought her back to London in order for Harcourt to use her to get at Dare’s fortune currently held within the Bank of London. If nothing else, it kept her alive and gave her time to escape.

Dare took the will from Everett and slowly waved it in the air, drying the ink. He hoped Emma would understand. But would she accept such a backhanded, unconventional marriage proposal?

Dare walked up to her, giving a nod to Tobias, who narrowed his eyes even at him. “Miss St. James. Please…please make me happy by becoming my wife.” And forgive me for these unfortunate circumstances.

Emma’s smile lit his heart and radiated sunshine even amid the growing danger.

“It would give me great pleasure, my lord, to do so.”

Dare closed his eyes a moment and breathed deep in relief. She said yes. She said yes! If he had not had ample reason to defeat Harcourt before that time, he did now.

“Fine, then. Let’s proceed with the wedding,” said Harcourt with a greedy grin. With control over the beneficiary of Dare’s will, if Harcourt killed Dare, he could gain more than just Dare’s ship—he could gain all of Dare’s fortune.

Dare stood before the man he was about to kill with Emma St. James at his side. It was the happiest, worst moment of his life. Emma was presenting an admirably serene exterior, but at closer inspection, the vein in her neck pulsed rapidly, and fabric stretched over her bosom with every quick breath.

Still, she presented such a pool of calm he wished nothing more than to remain by her side for the rest of his life. How many other society ladies could remain steadfast in such circumstances? He had admired her for some time, but now he had fresh cause to appreciate her. She was unique. And she was his. And he loved her more than he had thought possible.

Love? Was he truly in love?

He had heard the phrase “falling in love” but had thought it a far-fetched notion of romantic tales and opera plots. He had been certain it would never happen to him.

He had been wrong.

He stood next to the lady who made his cold heart skip a beat, the lady who made him lose his precious self-control, the lady who was about to become his wife. The lady he loved.

* * *

As a child, Emma had dreamed of her wedding. What little girl did not? Marriage was the object of her life—or at least, that was what most of the women of her acquaintance had taught her. Somehow the concept of marriage had become warped in her life. Initially, she was pressed to accept a match with her own stepbrother. Then she sought a marriage of convenience to some faraway American to protect herself. Clearly, her romanticized dream of weddings and marriage had gone by the wayside.

And that was a good thing. For now the prospect of marrying the Earl of Darington on a disabled ship, moments before he was to engage in mortal combat, attended by the most disreputable wedding guests imaginable was still better than marrying Eustace.

She was not sure why Darington wished to marry her at this moment, but she did know he would not bring her on deck without a very good purpose. If he wanted to marry her now, it could only be for her benefit.

Did she trust him enough to marry him on a ship full of thieves and murderers?

Yes, yes she did.

She smiled, and much to her surprise, he slowly returned it. And she knew. She knew without the fleeting whisper of a doubt that he loved her. Even though he stood on the deck of his ruined ship before the man who had destroyed his life, he smiled. He smiled at her. Whatever happened next, it was worth it for this moment. She had not been sure she could claim Dare’s heart or even that he had one to claim. But he had. And it was hers.

“Fine, now let’s get on with it. Who will perform the ceremony?” growled Harcourt.

“As captain of your ship, I would ask that you observe the rights of captains to serve as the officiant,” declared Dare.

The snarl on Harcourt’s lips twitched up. “You want me to preside over your wedding? Oh, by all means.”

“Let us adjourn to your ship, where you hold domain,” said Dare.

“Oh no, it is not necessary to inconvenience the lady. You have struck your colors and I claim this ship as mine.”

Dare’s jaw tightened, but he gave a quick nod of assent. There was a moment of confusion as people searched for a Book of Common Prayer. Harcourt did not sail with one, but then, neither did Dare.

“Here, please use mine,” said Emma, handing over her small copy from her reticule.

Harcourt squinted at the words on the page and, after some deep growls, produced a monocle from his waistcoat pocket with which to read the tiny script. “We are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony.”

Harcourt clearly took no pleasure in the proceedings, other than a few mercurial glances at her. Emma was not sure why he would look at her so, but she had never before wished more ill to another human being. Her circumstances were so unusual it was surreal. If she suddenly woke, she would not have been surprised to learn it was all a dream.

But no, only the real, live Earl of Darington could make her heart beat so or her breath catch in her throat. This was no dream; this was very real. And despite it all, despite the officiant being the worst traitor in all of Britain, despite standing on a crippled ship surrounded by men who at any moment might attack her, and despite the fact that Dare was about to fight this man to the death—yes, despite even that—her heart thrilled with a sudden burst of heedless joy.

She was marrying Robert Ashton, the Earl of Darington, the captain of her heart. She was marrying the man she loved. She prayed she would not soon be made a widow, but for this moment, she was being united with the man she adored, and somehow, when she looked into his dark eyes and stoic face, she was happy.

“I, Robert Ashton, take thee, Emma St. James, to be my wedded wife.” Dare spoke the words solemnly, but with a tremor of emotion that was real and true. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

She tried to restrain her smile. Truly, it was not appropriate, like a bird singing in the mouth of a fox, but somehow she could not squelch it. She spoke her vows to him with such a cheery smile she might have been in a London chapel, and even then, it would have been gauche, for marriage ceremonies were supposed to be solemn affairs. Dare, however, did not seem to care, for he gazed at her with a sort of awe-like wonder, as if surprised she would actually marry him.

When it came time for rings to be exchanged, Dare frowned. “I would wish to give you a ring, but I have none to give.”

“I have no need for a ring,” assured Emma.

“Oh, but you do. Indeed, you must have a ring.” Harcourt gave her a malicious smile and produced from his waistcoat pocket a silver ring.

Dare’s jaw tightened at the sight. “My signet ring.”

“But of course. How else could I grant your crew the leave they were due?” He handed the ring to Dare with mock civility.

Dare took the ring and held out his hand to her. Emma placed her hand in his.

“Now you say—” began Harcourt.

“I know the words,” growled Dare. He took a breath and focused on Emma. His features softened when he looked at her, and she felt herself melting into the dark pools of his eyes.

“With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship.” He paused and heat ran up her spine with the memory of their time in his cabin. “With all my worldly goods, I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” He spoke the words slowly, deliberately, and she knew they were his true vow.

The ring was too big for her finger, but she curled her fingers to ensure it did not fall off. He was supposed to drop her hand but continued to hold it as Harcourt read the service.

“Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” Harcourt paused and looked at them over the prayer book. “Actually I intend to do just that when we are finished here.”

“You are welcome to try,” countered Dare. “Proceed.”

“Forasmuch as Robert Ashton, Earl of Darington, and Emma St. James have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Harcourt scanned the page and snapped the book closed in disgust. “There proceeds a series of lengthy prayers and sermonizing, which I assume we can all skip, having done the essentials.”

Dare lightly squeezed her hand and she squeezed it back. It was all they could not say.

Harcourt handed Emma back her prayer book. “Keep the ring safe for me for a few minutes. I shall come to collect it from you directly.”

“Forgive me for being disobliging, but I fear I shall be attending your funeral in short order,” said Emma boldly. “But do not fear. I have the page here for the order of the burial of the dead.”

“Don’t bother to mark the page,” sneered Harcourt. “But stay and watch your new husband’s death. I will take great joy in seeing that pretty smile turn to tears.”

“Enough!” Dare stepped between her and Harcourt. “You are naught but a dog, unworthy to lick her boots. You will not speak to her.”

“Good, good. Now we do what needs to be done. Allow me to offer my ship as the location for our brief encounter. Yours seems to have something blocking the deck.” He gestured to the crippled mast.

“As you wish,” replied Dare grimly.

Harcourt sprang up lightly onto the rail and jumped nimbly to the deck of his ship.

Dare turned to Emma. It might be their last moment together. He drew her close and pressed a kiss to her lips. This brought a cheer from his men, a sound that faded away as she became wholly captivated by the feel of his body pressed to hers, as if he could protect her from what was to come. For one shining moment, everything was right in her world.

Dare broke the kiss and everything was wrong. “If he wins…” he whispered in her ear.

“He will not.”

“But if he does, things will become very difficult for you, but he will not kill you for he will need you to try to get my fortune. I hope somehow you can escape.”

“Oh!” Emma suddenly understood why he had wished to marry her. He was protecting her just in case. “You have done so much for me.”

“And you for me.”

“I have not even given you a token. You are my knight and I must give you a token of my love.” Emma remembered the stories of the ladies and knights of old. If ever there was a chivalrous knight, it was Darington. She searched through her reticule. “Goodness, I was so surprised by your summons I have not even a handkerchief. Here, take this instead. God’s word is a much better token anyway.”

Emma handed Dare her small Book of Prayer and he placed it in the breast pocket of his coat. “Thank you.”

She clasped her hands on either side of his face, looking up to him. “I have no wish to be a widow,” she said earnestly.

“I have no wish to be dead.”

And with those parting words, he was gone.