tongue.
“You may.” She was the worst friend in the entire world.
CHAPTER TEN
M ARSEILLE WAS CROWDED and damned hot to be wearing a greatcoat, but discomfort was a small price to pay with success this close. Which, of course, was an offensively liberal use of the term success.
Nick kept one hand locked around India’s arm and the other wrapped around the pistol inside his pocket. It was probably an unnecessary precaution. And his conscience kept reminding him of that awful afternoon, and how small and vulnerable Lady India had been in her terror.
But he’d be a fool to forget what had happened aboard the ship a week ago. Lady India and Miss Germain were pirates, plain and simple, and now that he was alone with these two, he would be ill-advised to consider anything but how easily they had managed to take over that ship—and how much more easily they could overpower him if he wasn’t careful.
He had fifty thousand reasons to be on his guard.
They made their way along the streets—Lady India eerily silent in the middle, Miss Germain a grim pallbearer on her other side. “Cross the street,” he ordered. Lady India’s lack of protest made him bloody nervous.
That thick rope of a braid hung down her back, glistening like gold in the sunshine. Her pert little nose was pointed stubbornly forward, and her mouth—God, he didn’t dare think about her mouth. A fading bruise still darkened her cheek and eye—a bruise, he reminded himself yet again to assuage the guilt, that represented the only real consequences she’d endured for a crime that under any other circumstances would have ended with her death.
He steered them toward the first church he saw and told himself to stop thinking about what happened that day. Most of all, to stop thinking about the way Lady India had looked to him for help, and the terror in her eyes that had struck him where he was most vulnerable. He’d been prepared to interfere with Jaxbury’s discipline—a foolhardy undertaking if there ever was one.
But he’d have done it. For her.
Just as he’d been prepared to sacrifice his honor for Clarissa, who—it turned out—cared nothing for him at all and had not even wanted his help. This vulnerability toward women in anguish was a personal flaw he would do well to remedy before he let his guard down and Lady India managed to escape. Because her silence could only mean one thing:
She had a plan.
“Do not scream,” he said under his breath as he escorted her into the church. Inside, it was dark and a good deal cooler. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.
Lady India didn’t utter a word. But she was not going to say these vows without a fight—he’d lay his life on that. No doubt she intended to appeal to the priest for help. Which meant they were about to witness a prime example of the power of money.
A dozen people littered the pews. But up in front, fussing with something inside a gilded box, was the man Nick was looking for.
The three of them walked down the aisle, and he caught the priest’s attention. “Might we have a word with you in private?” he asked in French.
The priest inclined his head and gestured toward a door in the shadows. “Bien sûr, mon fils.”
They followed the priest into a small chamber off the left transept. The door shut behind them with a solid click, and the priest turned to him. “What may I do for you?”
“This woman and I have met with unusual circumstances,” Nick began, “and we need—”
“This man is trying to force me into marriage.” There it was, in perfect French straight from those tantalizing lips. “I beg of you,” Lady India continued firmly, “please give my friend and me refuge in your church. Please. You must help us.”
The priest frowned at Nick. “Is this true?”
Nick gave India what he hoped was a shocked and wounded look. She was not going to evade him this easily. “My love, what can you mean?” He slipped the contract from his vest and handed
“You may.” She was the worst friend in the entire world.
CHAPTER TEN
M ARSEILLE WAS CROWDED and damned hot to be wearing a greatcoat, but discomfort was a small price to pay with success this close. Which, of course, was an offensively liberal use of the term success.
Nick kept one hand locked around India’s arm and the other wrapped around the pistol inside his pocket. It was probably an unnecessary precaution. And his conscience kept reminding him of that awful afternoon, and how small and vulnerable Lady India had been in her terror.
But he’d be a fool to forget what had happened aboard the ship a week ago. Lady India and Miss Germain were pirates, plain and simple, and now that he was alone with these two, he would be ill-advised to consider anything but how easily they had managed to take over that ship—and how much more easily they could overpower him if he wasn’t careful.
He had fifty thousand reasons to be on his guard.
They made their way along the streets—Lady India eerily silent in the middle, Miss Germain a grim pallbearer on her other side. “Cross the street,” he ordered. Lady India’s lack of protest made him bloody nervous.
That thick rope of a braid hung down her back, glistening like gold in the sunshine. Her pert little nose was pointed stubbornly forward, and her mouth—God, he didn’t dare think about her mouth. A fading bruise still darkened her cheek and eye—a bruise, he reminded himself yet again to assuage the guilt, that represented the only real consequences she’d endured for a crime that under any other circumstances would have ended with her death.
He steered them toward the first church he saw and told himself to stop thinking about what happened that day. Most of all, to stop thinking about the way Lady India had looked to him for help, and the terror in her eyes that had struck him where he was most vulnerable. He’d been prepared to interfere with Jaxbury’s discipline—a foolhardy undertaking if there ever was one.
But he’d have done it. For her.
Just as he’d been prepared to sacrifice his honor for Clarissa, who—it turned out—cared nothing for him at all and had not even wanted his help. This vulnerability toward women in anguish was a personal flaw he would do well to remedy before he let his guard down and Lady India managed to escape. Because her silence could only mean one thing:
She had a plan.
“Do not scream,” he said under his breath as he escorted her into the church. Inside, it was dark and a good deal cooler. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.
Lady India didn’t utter a word. But she was not going to say these vows without a fight—he’d lay his life on that. No doubt she intended to appeal to the priest for help. Which meant they were about to witness a prime example of the power of money.
A dozen people littered the pews. But up in front, fussing with something inside a gilded box, was the man Nick was looking for.
The three of them walked down the aisle, and he caught the priest’s attention. “Might we have a word with you in private?” he asked in French.
The priest inclined his head and gestured toward a door in the shadows. “Bien sûr, mon fils.”
They followed the priest into a small chamber off the left transept. The door shut behind them with a solid click, and the priest turned to him. “What may I do for you?”
“This woman and I have met with unusual circumstances,” Nick began, “and we need—”
“This man is trying to force me into marriage.” There it was, in perfect French straight from those tantalizing lips. “I beg of you,” Lady India continued firmly, “please give my friend and me refuge in your church. Please. You must help us.”
The priest frowned at Nick. “Is this true?”
Nick gave India what he hoped was a shocked and wounded look. She was not going to evade him this easily. “My love, what can you mean?” He slipped the contract from his vest and handed
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