Whether it was the merriment from the dance, the warmth of the liquor or simply being held so close to another, Eliza wasn’t sure what spurred her actions or her whispered words as she lifted her hand to place against his cheek. “Titles, good or bad, just or not, duke or bastard, do not make the man. I’d have thought, you of all people, might have understood that.”
“You’re doing it again,” Darius said as he captured her hand in his. This time he placed a soft, quick kiss against her palm and then returned it to his shoulder.
“Doing what?” Was there a question? She could barely think straight with all the little kisses and touches.
“Making me out to be some hero, romanticising me in your mind.”
This made Eliza chuckle, brought her back to the moment, to the room and the noise around them, to the dozens of witnesses to their close proximity. “Romanticising you in my mind? I hardly think so.”
“I will protect you and keep you safe but I won’t hesitate to shed the blood of those willing to hurt women and children.”
“Perhaps it is you who romanticises your true self in your mind? Perhaps you are still more pirate than businessman?”
He shook his head, his grin in full force although it didn’t sparkle in his hazel eyes. “I know full well who I am in my mind. I have accepted me and that’s all that matters.”
“Selfish? Arrogant? I can’t decide.” She chuckled.
“Both.” He shrugged. “Come, let’s dance. We’ll be scandalous together, the steps be damned.”
Eliza found herself nodding and taking his hand in hers with an enthusiasm she had probably never felt about anything in her life. For a few hours she could throw away her dignity, her propriety, her breeding. She was a bastard’s wife now.
For possibly the first time in her existence, despite the axe hanging above them all, she felt strangely…free.
Chapter Thirteen
As the pale moonlight cast dancing shadows across the carpet, Darius thought he might actually be sick. His nerves were strung tighter than a mast with the full force of the wind behind it; his stomach roiled as if pitching about on the sea rather than standing in a room, alone, with his wife.
Wife.
A concept he’d never given a great deal of thought to. He knew he’d likely marry someday in the very distant future as most men did, but like this? This he could never have seen coming. He would have dodged it like the cannon ball it might as well have been.
According to English law, she now belonged to him to do with what he wished. But that wasn’t going to happen either. His past was filled with mistakes; he would not add Eliza to his list of regrets.
Darius groaned and raked his hands through his hair, pulling hard on the strands, hoping to take his mind off what was about to happen. Would she assume theirs was to be a real wedding night? Could he actually go through with it if she wanted it to be real?
What was he thinking? She barely knew him. She wanted his protection and not much else.
Eliza sat in front of the mirror, carefully removing the pins from her hair one by one, as she hummed through the notes of a waltz. They’d danced the afternoon away and well into the night, the liquor flowing freer than it perhaps should have. From the red rims around her eyes and the silly little smile on her full lips, Darius would guess she was well on her way to being foxed. Not a bad state if one could achieve it. God knew, he’d tried but he felt stone-cold sober. Maybe if he was drunk, it would make it easier to consider taking the virtue of a duke’s daughter. An innocent pawn in the games of men.
How many brides had gone to their fate exactly the same way Eliza was right now? he wondered. How many girls all over England and beyond had been sold in this exact same way? The thought made him shudder but he regained control of his wild emotions soon enough. No need to scare Eliza with the vehemence of his thoughts this night.
When finally her white-blonde tresses hung down her back to her waist, Eliza stopped her fidgeting. She sat so still he almost wondered if she imagined herself somewhere else. Anywhere else.
“Would you like me to help you with your gown?” It was a beautiful concoction of lace and yards of fabric in a style so outdated, she would have no hope of getting it off herself. She wore it like a princess despite her drop in station from a lady to a mere missus. If the dress was some long-ago countess’s evening gown, she would have had hordes of maids to help her from it. Eliza only had him. Poor chit.
She didn’t speak, only nodded, stood and gave him her back as she wrapped her hands around a bedpost. He took his time undoing the laces. He shouldn’t have. He should have ripped the gown from her, tucked her securely into her bed, locked the door and fled into the cold, snowy night.
He wished she’d stop humming. Whenever his fingers brushed her smooth back, the sound she made vibrated through his fingertips right to his very soul. All the years he’d spent as a pirate, he’d held on to the fact that he did have a soul, a heart—he just knew when to tuck them safely away and when to consult them on serious matters.
For the third time Darius had to sweep her hair up and over her shoulder, the soft strands floating over his hands, the sweet scent of violets leaving him hungry and wanting. “You need to
