Eliza. She had looked so delicate and beautiful, almost ethereal as she’d walked down the stairs, her eyes locked with his, her outdated gown shimmering in the morning sun despite its years tucked away in the attics. Desire had risen inside him as fast as a spring squall but he didn’t welcome it. Theirs was a wary and fragile situation. He’d been about to let her out of their ridiculous deal and weather the wrath of his men who wanted nothing more than to go home.
In his study, alone with her, he’d been about to try to come up with another way so she wouldn’t have to sell herself for his protection, but then she’d once again confirmed how alone in the world she really was. Just like him. They really did have that one thread in common. It was tenuous but it was there all the same.
He also had to remember that he was selling his own freedom as well. Without her dowry, he and his men were stuck. Eliza and her siblings were stuck too, on their own, out in the cold. As much as they might both despise the machinations behind their match, neither had much choice. Darius should hate her father for his actions, for killing himself and taking the easy way out of his troubles. But then he’d uttered the words, I will. When he’d kissed her pale lips and held her in his arms, hate didn’t even register. It was only attraction he felt towards his new bride and it would help neither of them. It was one thing for Eliza to sell her freedom for his protection, it was quite another for him to accept her body for payment also.
He looked around the room in search of his new shackle and found her with her siblings. The girls were speaking in high-pitched, excited squeals while Nathanial continued to glower in Darius’s direction.
What would it have been like to grow up with Harold, to have been treated like a real brother rather than a bastard and a problem? To have a family? He’d never know and Darius had long since banished what ifs from his life. To look into the past was to wish and dream and it got a man nowhere. If it did, he’d have come to England, collected his money within days, and then been back on his way. Now it had been more than three months, add in the distraction that had been Daniella Germaine, a storm that had seriously damaged his ship, and now the three supposed honourable gentlemen unable or unwilling to pay their debts in full with coin or gold.
Marcus handed him a glass filled with French brandy, a twin to it in his own hand. “A toast?” he suggested loudly, taking Darius’s mind off his myriad of unceasing problems and causing everyone in the room to grow quiet, even the squawking Gabriella and Grace.
More glasses were distributed, the little Ethan frowning when he didn’t get one. Darius gave his man a nod and indicated with his fingers to give the lad a little. It was a celebration after all. He planned on getting ridiculously drunk. Right after he wished all of England and her inhabitants to the devil.
How was it a self-proclaimed bachelor, intent on never having children let alone a wife, could suddenly find himself leg-shackled to one who likely had no intention of ever sharing his bed? A woman who came with a brood of children she had vowed to look after to her very last breath. A woman he had almost nothing in common with besides being betrayed in the worst way by a man who called himself father?
God, he thought, maybe he was already drunk? Or maybe she was? He still found it very strange that Eliza had agreed so readily to marry him, an ex-pirate and a stranger. And then there was her even stranger request that he put the children on his ship and sail them far away if the need arose. She was anticipating something and it was bad.
Marcus lifted his glass high. “To the captain and his bride!”
Darius lifted his and gave his new bride a nod. “To the vows spoken this day.”
Eliza also raised her glass, her unwavering gaze never leaving his. “To honourable men keeping to their word.”
It seemed to shock everyone in the room when little Ethan raised his tiny splash in the air also. “To families. New and old!”
There were cheers and hear-hears followed by the sound of gulping and then yet more cheering and backslapping. Most of his men seemed to think this a real marriage and not an exchanging of protection for money. He supposed the English had been doing it like this forever and a day, a poor man marrying a rich heiress.
However, poor nobodies didn’t marry dukes’ daughters. But then he wasn’t a poor man. At least he hadn’t been until he’d left for bloody England in the first place. How could he have known it would turn out so badly? If Wickham and Penfold had paid their debts, he’d be on his way back. But no, here he was getting married.
When he next glanced Eliza’s way, she finally had some colour on her cheeks and was smiling and laughing with Tarquin as he regaled the sisters with a story. Here was the fun she had been searching for but it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. The least he could offer was one simple day of freedom
