Pennyroyal Green: The Legend Of Lyon Redmond Part 28

It was the first time she'd said his name since he'd seen her again, and he hated the context.

It infuriated him, her calm certainty. The warning. His name, in her voice, which had once been so beloved. "Oh, no doubt. No doubt. And you must of course protect the man you love from being hurt."

He was aware of a faint bitterness in his voice.

She whirled on him hurriedly. "I didn't say I love-"

They both froze, eyes locked.

The moment so taut and fragile one could have tapped a ping from it.

"Yes?" he said tersely.

At last she dropped her gaze again.

And was stubbornly silent.

The breeze had freed more of her silky black hair and it lashed and danced around her head like a dervish. Mesmerizing, the dark hair against the brightening blue of the sky. He remembered the feel of it in his hand when he'd cradled her head to take a kiss deeply. The textures of her had long haunted him: the generous give of her lips. The silken slide of her skin when he'd dared to explore so far, and no farther.

"I don't think you should underestimate him," was all she said, finally. Her voice quieter now.

"I wouldn't dream of it. After all, people you underestimate might surprise you and do things like, oh, absconding with you a few weeks shy of your wedding."

"He'll come after me if he discovers I'm gone."

"He won't discover it. I've made certain of it. But If he does, I'll be ready for him," he said simply. Amused. "And I'll hand you back if that's what you want."

A hesitation.

"Lyon-"

That tone. So reasonable. So condescending. Almost placating.

It infuriated him.

"Enough." His voice cracked like a musket shot.

She flinched, her eyes widening.

"Don't you want to finish this, Olivia? And if you can swear on all you hold dear-whether that's your own lovely head, your family, the ground your ancestral estate rests upon, the esteem of Landsdowne, if indeed you do hold that dear-if you know with the same certainty you know the sun will rise tomorrow and that Everseas and Redmonds will remain at each other's throats through eternity that you don't love me anymore-I will send you back now. Say the word. Can you swear that you don't?"

Love.

That word. It was a cannonball fired over battlements.

He'd used it so much more easily than she had.

Then again, men were always more comfortable with weapons.

Her eyes had seemed to him so beautiful and changeable, so full of promise and tenderness and mystery, a little dangerous when they crackled with temper. A man could get lost there. Or found there. Like the sea.

And maybe that was why he was so at home on the sea.

She closed them.

And gave her head an almost imperceptible shake: no.

"That's what I thought," he said, with grim satisfaction.

He turned swiftly.

"But-"

"I need to speak to my first mate about our course. Don't try to throw yourself overboard. You're being watched, and my crew isn't accustomed to handling anything gently."

Chapter 16.

SHE WAS STUNNED AND furious and exhausted but she still couldn't help it: she opened one eye, and then the other, just so she could watch him go.

But then, it had always required a superhuman effort not to watch Lyon Redmond.

Now she saw a critical difference. When she'd met him that night in the ballroom, there had been a remote self-awareness about him. As though he balanced a burden no one could see, as though he was walking an invisible line drawn for him beyond which he could never go.

Now he walked as if he owned the earth and everyone on it and gave not one d.a.m.n what anyone thought, including her.

She'd forgotten how relentless he could be. Absolutely merciless in the pursuit of a truth.

She hadn't forgotten how easily he could surprise her into laughing.

And just like that, in came another tide of anger for all that he was now.

And all that she'd missed.

And all that he'd missed.

She turned toward the water reflexively and tensed in shock, her palms digging into the railing, her knuckles curled in a painful grip.

No land in sight.

Dear G.o.d, no land in sight.

Just endless, heaving, gla.s.sine, blue-green in every direction. A veil of silvery foam, like the train of a royal bride, trailed the s.h.i.+p. The air was briny and winy, every breath she took exotically delicious and wind-scoured, and it stung her cheeks and sent her hair las.h.i.+ng at them like a cat-o-nine tails.

The sails cracked and billowed as the wind swelled them, and pushed the s.h.i.+p ever more swiftly forward.

d.a.m.n.

d.a.m.n him anyway.

Because . . . it was glorious.

He'd remembered. He must have remembered. All of the things she'd said she'd wanted. To see the ocean. To sail on a s.h.i.+p.

She closed her eyes against a violent surge of emotion. Something soaring and brilliant was burning through her shock and fury and fatigue. A bit like a beautiful, half-remembered song heard through castle walls.

"Good morning, Miss Eversea."

Her eyes snapped open.

Mademoiselle Lilette was leaning companionably against the rail of the s.h.i.+p.

"Oh, good morning, whoever the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l you might actually be," Olivia drawled.

"Oh, that does sting a bit," Digby said with infuriating cheeriness. "Something tells me that's the first time you've strung 'b.l.o.o.d.y' and 'h.e.l.l' together, Miss Eversea, and it suits you right down to the ground. I'm actually Digby." She curtsied. "Mrs. Delphinia Digby-Thorne."

Digby's accent was now English. But then again, perhaps she excelled at accents. She might be a native Portuguese, for all Olivia knew.

Olivia turned and eyed her balefully. "Where did you learn to speak French, you fraud?"

"Fraud?" Digby clapped a hand over her heart. "I'm wounded. I'm more in the way of a skillful actress, and no one accuses actresses of fraud when they practice their craft. And I learned to speak French rather like you did, I suppose. They do want young English ladies to learn such things, don't they? That, and sewing, and the like. I suppose you can say that's where our similarities diverge."

This Digby was insufferably at ease and regarding Olivia as if she were an achievement of which she was particularly proud. And Olivia's cheeks felt warm again at the thought of how much she'd confided in Digby.

"You are also a spy."

"Well, yes," Digby said, sounding mildly surprised at hearing the obvious pointed out.

"A good one."

"Yes," Digby agreed, modestly.

"Did you even ever lose a great love?"

"I've had plenty of loves, but none of them great until the man I married. I am recently wed to the captain's first mate. Mr. Magnus Thorne. And I intend to keep him forever."

Olivia snorted.

"How did you . . . How did he . . ." Olivia made a frustrated gesture in the direction of London, no longer visible.

"He learned Madame Marceau had the making of your trousseau, and he bribed her a.s.sistant to disappear and I serendipitously appeared when Madame Marceau's need was most urgent. The previous girl was settling into enjoying her retirement in the country and can afford to marry well or not at all, whatever pleases her. And the captain coaxed her back again with another payment when she was needed. The captain can do that sort of thing, because he's rich. Very, very rich," she said with relish and awe. "I simply followed his directions and my own instincts, which ultimately made it possible to intercept you. It's generally the right thing to do, following his instructions, that is."

Olivia stared at the woman, who was small and dark and round and lush in a way that would appeal to nearly any man. She had merry and too-knowing dark eyes. As Mademoiselle Lilette, she had clearly powdered her skin, for now a few golden freckles were apparent, and her hair had been clearly sc.r.a.ped and flattened into submission in order to play the role of modiste, as it was apparent now that it was riotously curly.

"'Intercept,'" Olivia quoted sardonically. "Is that how one refers to kidnapping and deception these days?"

"Nevertheless, it's an accurate word, one must admit."

"And how did you come to know . . . the captain . . . Digby?"

So strange to refer to him that way. The captain. Her brothers had returned from the war wearing new mantles of calm and authority, an air of abstraction that sometimes settled over them when they were silent. They had seen things, and done things, of which they would never speak, and it was this that separated them from their sisters, and somehow bound them closer to each other. It was the lot of men, it seemed, to see and do a lot of things of which they could never speak.

And yet Lyon's air of authority was something else altogether.

As if he made his own laws.

She wondered if anything could hurt him now.

"Well, his reputation rather preceded him," Digby said, "and I greatly admired it. I needed a job. I convinced him I would be a useful employee. And so I have been," she said with great relish. "For he wanted you here, and here you are."

Olivia stared at the woman, a thousand competing questions clamoring to be asked. "What do you mean, 'his reputation' . . . ?"

"As s.h.i.+p captain, exceptionally successful and wealthy merchant . . . and revolutionary, of a sort. Though the last bit isn't as commonly known."

Merchant?

Revolutionary?

Lyon Redmond?

Was she dreaming?

"You left out possibly a madman, Miss Digby," she said shortly.

Digby tipped her head. "Have a care, Miss Eversea. I suppose he's many things, but mad isn't one of them. There is method in all he does. I won't hear a disparaging word. I would do anything for him."

Olivia fixed the other woman with a stare. "And have you?" she said softly.

Digby blinked in shock.

And then gratifyingly, the insufferably confident woman flushed.

"Firstly, Miss Eversea do you really want to know what I think you're insinuating? And secondly, do you believe you have the right to the answer?"

Digby's self-possession was both enraging and amusing, in large part because it was like looking in a mirror. And as much as Olivia would have loved to engage in a good fight right now, her sense of justice was muscular.

"Excellent points, Digby. No, and no."

Digby's eyes flared briefly in surprise. Then she, too, nodded shortly. "If you need any a.s.sistance, I'm at your disposal, Miss Eversea. I'll show you back to your quarters, if you'll follow me."

"Wait . . . where is this s.h.i.+p going?"