Twelve days had passed since Ross took Estelle’s hand and hauled her out of the small boat. Compared to eight years it should have been nothing. He’d said he was coming back. But she could not shake the deep sense of loss. Every night she prayed for him. Every day she awaited his return only to retire feeling drained, lovesick and alone.

She had used the time productively, rebuilding her relationship with Fabian and Lillian. Witnessing the depth of their love only made her miss Ross all the more.

Every day, she wandered down to the secluded cove, paddled her feet in the sea, sat and watched the waves break on the sand.

Today, a thick blanket of cloud obscured the sun. Sharp gusts of wind whipped her hair loose from its knot. But she enjoyed the peace and solitude, and it gave her time to daydream about Ross.

She put her hands over her ears as another gust howled past. Mr Erstwhile would caution her about being outdoors in such harsh weather. He’d treated plenty of people with a chill in their chest, mostly from going out in all elements.

She groaned inwardly when she sensed someone approach. Perhaps Fabian had come to keep her company, or Mackenzie with wild tales to make her laugh. For as the days dragged on, her mood grew more melancholic.

Whoever it was draped his coat over her shoulders and dropped down beside her. In an instant, she knew it was not Fabian or Mackenzie. The alluring scent that clung to the coat belonged to only one man.

Her head shot to the right, and her heart almost leapt out of her mouth.

“Did you miss me, Estelle?” Ross looked out at sea before turning to face her. A lock of ebony hair hung rakishly over one brow. The sight of him stole her breath. “Are you angry I went away?”

It took a moment to speak. “Angry? No. Livid? Most definitely.”

He smiled at that.

Relief flooded through her, starting in her fingers and racing to her toes. “So you took a trip to France without me.”

“I wouldn’t call it a trip exactly. More a mission to right the wrongs of the past.”

“And did you succeed?”

He raised an arrogant brow. “What do you think?”

She scanned his face and body. Her gaze fell to the marred hand resting on his knee. “How did you come by that bruise on your knuckle?”

“Oh, that.” He examined the bruise and flexed his fingers. “My hand collided with a gentleman’s nose and then smacked into his jaw.”

“Was it anyone I know?”

“As a matter of fact, he is the son of a merchant who lacks manners when it comes to maids.”

Estelle couldn’t help but feel a frisson of satisfaction. “Is he dead?”

“No, though I fear he may need to recuperate for some time.”

“I see.”

Another gust of wind forced her to suck in her breath. Ross reached over and drew his coat more firmly around her shoulders.

“And what else were you up to on your secret mission?” Surely he’d not gone off in search of the smugglers.

“I spoke to the magistrate who showed an interest in what happened at Drummond’s yard. It seems Hungerford did hire the Frenchman to attack you in the alley. He also hired him to break into the shop. When questioned, the man waffled on about the Erstwhiles eating poisoned macaroons, about Hungerford wanting to take advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable.”

“Good Lord. The level of deceit is astounding.” Now she knew why Mr Hungerford insisted on serving macaroons when he knew she hated them.

“Oh, and I spent a night in Wissant,” Ross continued. “You’d be surprised what you can learn when you ply the locals with wine and ale.”

“Wissant? You have been busy.” Estelle inhaled to calm the nervous flutter in her stomach. “And … and what did they tell you?”

“Faucheux is dead. That is the name of the smuggler you fear?”

Estelle’s heart thumped hard against her ribcage. “Please tell me you didn’t kill him.”

Ross shook his head. “The band of smugglers were caught and hung years ago. Faucheux was hung for the murder of Monsieur Bonnay. The group fought without a leader and were caught with contraband some months later.”

Faucheux was dead.

A sense of peace settled in her chest, one she’d not felt since the carefree days of her youth. She had been so angry with Ross for leaving, and yet no words could express her gratitude. Never again would she worry whenever she heard a gruff French voice.

She turned and clutched his arm. “Do you know what that means?”

“It means you have nothing to fear. It means no one can ever testify to the part you played all those years ago.”

The love she felt for this man burst through her. She flew into his arms, causing him to fall back onto the sand.

Her mouth closed over his instantly. She devoured him, thrust her tongue wildly against his. Twelve days’ worth of anguish ignited into a passion she could not contain. She kissed his cheek, his chin, nibbled the spot just beneath his ear, bit down on his lobe.

“So you have missed me,” Ross panted as he grasped her buttocks.

Consumed by lust, Estelle straddled him, gathered up her skirts and fumbled with the buttons on his breeches. “Take me now, Ross. Take me here. I need you.”

Freeing himself from his constraints with ease, he gripped his manhood.

“Hurry,” she said, aware that they were alone on the beach but at any moment someone might appear. But she could not wait to take this man into her body. “Quickly, Ross.”

With a moan of intense pleasure, she took him into her core, deep inside her, as deep as their position allowed.

Ross lay back on the sand. “Oh, God, Estelle. You don’t know what it’s been like for me these last twelve days.”

She clasped his hands and held them above his head, sheathed his solid shaft, rode him as if her life depended upon it, until her ragged breathing obliterated the sound of the wind.

It was rough, heart-stoppingly wonderful. He was so hard she could feel him swelling inside her. She enjoyed playing the temptress, and so she clutched his waistcoat in her fists and ground against him again and again.

“We need to share a bed tonight,” he said between short gasps of breath. “I don’t care if it’s in the blasted stable.” He closed his eyes. “Lord above.”

He came apart, groaning her name, flooding her body.

Estelle stilled and waited for Ross’ breathing to settle.

But without warning he flipped her onto her back. “I’ll not leave you unsatisfied.”

She did not need to reach the dizzying heights of release, just being close to him was enough for now, but he moved to kneel between her legs and buried his head between her thighs.

“No, Ross. No.”

He gripped her thighs as his wicked tongue flicked back and forth over the sensitive bud. The mounting pressure banished all embarrassment. She thrust her hands into his hair, tugged and pulled at the roots, wanted to shout a host of licentious things as the world fractured into hundreds of glittering pieces.

Ross rolled onto his back, and they both lay there panting, looking up at the sky.

“Well, that was a rather nice homecoming,” he said, catching his breath. “Perhaps regular trips to France might be in order.” He tucked his manhood away and came up on his elbow. “Marry me, Estelle.”

“You know I will.”

“At this rate, there will surely be a child, and so I want us to wed soon. Let us have a lavish celebration. Let us marry in St George’s. Would you like that?”

Estelle sighed. “Ross, such extravagance is unnecessary.” She did not want to disappoint him, but clearly, he had not thought this through. “We cannot afford to draw attention to the event. People will ask questions. How will I explain where I’ve been these last eight years?”

“Reach into the pocket of my coat and remove the letter.”

Intrigued, she sat up and did as he asked.

“Open it,” he said, “the seal is already broken.”

Estelle peeled back the folds and read the letter. Her gaze drifted to the embossed mark at the top. She shook her head. “How on earth did you come by this?”

The letter was written by the Reverend Mother of a convent in Brittany. It stated that a lady had been brought to them having been found unconscious on the beach. Due to the trauma, she suffered memory loss, and she remained with them until snippets of her memory returned some eight years later. At the bottom of the page she saw her name written in ink.

“The convent is crumbling down around them, and they are in dire need of funds. I happened to have the finances available to pay for a new roof, a new prayer room and for other things besides.”

Estelle looked at him and then looked at the Reverend Mother’s signature. “You bribed a servant of God?”

“Not bribed exactly but suggested they offer a helping hand to an innocent woman forced to act against her will. When she heard your story, she wanted to help.”

“Is this true?” She waved the letter at him. “Did you really speak to the Reverend Mother, because I find it hard to believe a woman of such grace would lie.”

A smile touched Ross’ lips. “Does it matter? Someone as holy as the Reverend Mother would never disclose the personal information of those given sanctuary. And should anyone search for proof, I have the receipt to show I donated a substantial amount of money out of gratitude.”

Estelle shook her head. “Your cunning astounds me.”

“I would do anything for you, and to secure the future of any children we may have.”

Estelle put her hand on her stomach. The thought of carrying his child brought a lump to her throat. “Then I shall treasure this letter because it shows the lengths you will go to for those you love.”

“So will you choose St George’s?”

While Ross had done everything to eradicate the past, she was as much a product of her mistakes as her successes. Being true to herself was what mattered now. “Fabian suggested we might marry here. It’s a small church but rather quaint. Would you be terribly disappointed?”

Ross grinned. “I’d marry you on the beach if it were possible, and so Raven Island it is. Though I wonder if you know the full extent of what you’re committing to.”

She was to marry a man who made her heart soar, her pulse race. “Oh, I’m committing to a man who is the epitome of sexual prowess.” Not that she had any complaint.

Ross raised a brow. “I wasn’t speaking about me. Mackenzie will want to host the wedding breakfast, and I hear he excels when it comes to picking the entertainment.”

“It is not the entertainment of the day that I shall concern myself with,” she said, returning to straddle his lap once again, “but more how you plan to please me on our wedding night.”

“You want your pleasure to come in slow, rippling waves, I seem to recall.”

Estelle fought to suppress a grin. “Do I? How strange that my memory seems to have failed me.”

Ross’ hands settled on her hips. “Then perhaps another demonstration is in order.”