The Wayward One (The De Montforte Brothers Book 5) by Danelle Harmon Page B

short one.
    “Some, not by their own choosing,” she allowed, with a sigh.
    “I’ll fetch you that hat now, my lady,” he said, and strode hurriedly off, leaving her alone once more.
    Ignoring the curious stares of the men around her, she looked past the stout, varnished wood of the mainmast and off over the starboard bows. She had never been aboard a ship before, and the experience was actually proving to be quite novel, even rather exciting, now that she was increasingly confident that her captor meant her no harm. The twin rows of guns on either side of the vessel only emphasized the fact that Captain O’ Devir wasn’t playing at being in a navy, and punctuated the reality that he would do what he must to accomplish his objectives. She bit her lip. Best not to think about how he would bring them about.
    An image of him walking away after rescuing the sailor yesterday rose in her mind, of how his wet, dripping clothes had emphasized the hard lines and muscles of his back, his thighs. Of how he had looked up as though he knew just what she was thinking, and winked at her.
    She blushed. Best not to think about Captain O’ Devir, either….
    Instead, she gazed off across the dark blue water, ruffled by foam and whitecaps like the lace on a lady’s gown and saw, far off in the distance, a coastline that looked almost purple in the haze. France, she imagined. Soon enough, a Royal Navy vessel would fill the horizon and blast Ruaidri O’ Devir and his ship of misguided Yankees to Kingdom Come. Soon enough, she would be returned to her family, and Lucien would hastily marry her off to not only save her reputation from the damage this shocking event will have caused but because, in his mind, enough would be enough.
    Lucien.
    Marriage.
    And to someone of his choosing, not hers. Someone who could never be Perry. Someone to whom she would dutifully provide an heir to preserve a bloodline as old or noble as her own, someone to share—if she was fortunate, as most aristocratic matches were ones of lonely separateness once the heir was produced—a life of constant parties, fashion, ton gossip, and cultured domesticity. She was a female. Her dowry would be huge, and though she knew Lucien would never saddle her to someone completely objectionable, he would be all the more determined to see her married after the shocking scandal of her abduction.
    The predictable hopelessness of her future suddenly crystallized into a hard, bitter seed that took root in her consciousness, and she felt an unexpected tear in her eye. Back to her sheltered life, she was destined to go. Back to being protected, being pampered, being treated as the china doll that could not be dropped or broken or taken out of its beautiful presentation box.
    She turned her face to the wet, salty breeze, catching a bit of foam on her cheek as she did and filling her lungs with the headiest and most delicious air they had ever known.
    The china doll that could not be allowed to truly live .
    In that moment, Lady Nerissa de Montforte found herself more depressed than she’d been since Perry, whose indecision and waffling had set Lucien to the meddling that had made everything go wrong, had broken their betrothal.
    Movement, at her shoulder. She turned and looked up and there was Captain O’ Devir, clad in a clean dry shirt and white breeches. He had enough height that he blocked out the sun behind him, and it occurred to her that he probably chose to stand where he did, just to shield her from its bright and burning rays.
    Maybe he was just a little bit of a gentleman, after all.
    “Well,” she said, almost to herself. “At least there is nothing indecisive about you, Captain O’ Devir.”
    “Beggin’ yer pardon?”
    “I’m just musing.”
    “Indecision on the part of a ship’s captain will get him and his men killed. No room for it at sea. Here.” He brought one hand out from behind his back, and she saw then that he was holding a large straw hat adorned