Illusion of Innocence: Regency Rebelles Series

Chapter 10

The moment he entered the cabin he knew he was doomed to insanity. Now he could smell her. That damned innocent, summery scent of honeysuckle wafted around him, the scent of Verity and snowbound days at Pennington.

God damn, could he not escape her?

Fumbling for the lamp on the map table in the middle of the room, he lit it and, by its mellow light, swept his gaze about the cabin, scoffing at himself for expecting to find her lurking somewhere in the shadows.

The perfume was that real.

He”d just registered the absence of Nik”s valise on the floor beneath the bunks when his roaming gaze was arrested by a movement in the shadows of the bottom bunk.

Raising the lantern, the final destruction of his mind and senses was wrought by the vision starting up in the bed.

Racked with equal parts euphoria, rabid arousal, and blinding fury, he stared at the glorious vision of his wife, those silvery blonde curls a tangled, gold-tinged halo about her head, the seafoam eyes shining like cats eyes in the lamplight, and her mouth—wide open—as if for a moment she”d forgotten exactly where she was.

And all he could think of was the things he could do with that mouth.

Not—going—there—Sinner.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Euphoria? Scratch that.

Arousal? Scratch that also.

Fury? Yeah that.

Focus on fury.

Suddenly the startled eyes narrowed and the delicious mouth snapped shut, and she sat up in the bunk. The sheets fell away to show she wore a lace and ribbon confection revealing more than it concealed.

Once again, Sin was fighting the raging discomfort in his trousers.

‘I did warn you, husband, that I am not good at following orders—especially if they don”t suit my purpose. And being ordered to remain ashore—and tamely play house while you sailed off onto the vastness of the ocean did—not—suit me. You left one immensely important task undone and I am here because that does not suit me either.’

At which, she threw the sheets down to the end of the bunk and stepped out to confront him.

If a ship load of pirates held swords to his throat, Sin could not have moved.

Venus. Perfection.

In silk and lace, only rendered the more transparent by the light from the lamp.

Exquisite.

Just as he’d known she would be when he”d seen her romping on the lawns at Pennington that day. How long ago? It felt like a lifetime and yet in reality was less than four weeks.

Four weeks in which he”d become a stranger to himself and done things to irrevocably change the course of his life.

And the reason, the culprit who must take the blame, stood before him making his eyes bulge, his hands shake, and his cock leak in his trousers.

‘How,’ he snarled, ‘did you get aboard this ship? Who smuggled you on? I will slice him to shreds and feed him to the sharks.’

The tormenting witch tossed her head, silvery curls dancing like whorls of white fire about her head.

‘The only one responsible for my presence aboard this ship is yourself, Sinner Wolfenden,’ she growled right back at him. ‘You left before completing the last and most important step of our marriage.’

The suspicion already assailing him became an icy cold blanket and instantly negated the heat raging through his blood.

She”d come aboard simply to ensure he consummated their union?

Prior to this moment, his ugly thoughts about her desire for marriage had been a mere suspicion he’d needed to be cleared from his mind, a product of his own inability to trust—anyone. But as the full reality of what she’d done, and why, slammed into his already inflamed mind, he lost every last sliver of rationality.

The nonsense about seeing and knowing were just that, so much caulk and pitch to cover the ugly truth.

She had needed a husband.

Why else would she go to such lengths to ensure he could never say with certainty their first child was not his?

Knowing his instincts had been so bloody spot on, reignited the fury that had incinerated his mind at first sight of her in that damned bunk.

‘You will not dupe me that easily—,’ he began.

The words strangled in his throat as she grasped the end of a ribbon at the neck of the gown and the whole shimmering confection fell to her feet.

Heat engulfed his body, equal parts undeniable arousal and all-consuming rage she could do this to him.

He”d never seen a more perfect figure of womanhood. Skin like milky alabaster. Breasts rounded, firm with dusky-pink, tip-tilted nipples. A waist he could likely span with his hands, curving over hips that begged for his grip while he pulled her into him as he thrust—legs—

A rabid growl rose in his throat.

‘You want consummation?’

Ripping his falls open, he freed his rampant cock. If her eyes widened in maidenly shock, it only proved what a consummate actress she was.

His hands gripped the gloriously feminine flesh of her hips and bore her to her back on the bunk she’d just left.

‘You want consummation? You truly want this?’ he asked again, and damn if he wasn’t shaking with the effort to hold himself in check, to wait for that one final signal from her.

In the shadows under the bunk, it was difficult to read the glitter in her eyes like chips of flaming ice, if he was of a mind to read it at all.

He was barely holding together the last tattered threads of gentlemanly decency in the face of the savage, fury-laced turmoil that consumed him when he thought of another having already taken what should have been his alone.

First. Last. Always.

His.

‘Do—you—want—this?’ he demanded one last time.

Her answer put him in mind of a feral cat about to attack.

‘Yesss,’ she hissed, her nails digging into the flesh of his upper arms through the cloth of his jacket.

Beyond waiting another second, he pressed her legs apart with his knees and thrust hard, deep, to the mouth of her womb.

Her pained cry pierced his ears about a second after his body registered the barrier he”d ruptured on his way to driving his lesson home, teaching her she could not mess with Sinner Wolfenden.

His cock deflated in shock, and her fierce shove against his chest easily dislodged him from between her thighs, depositing him brutally on his arse on the cold wooden floorboards.

She sat up, making no attempt to conceal her nakedness, and glared down at him with the accusatory vehemence of an avenging angel and moisture glistening on her cheeks.

‘That was nothing like I’d read it would be.’

The accusation hit him right where he was already beginning to burn. In his manly pride. And she was not done.

‘But clearly you are one of those gentlemen I also read about. Arrogant, self-serving, selfish and inept. I”m not interested in doing that with you ever again,’ she avowed, her voice thrumming with ire.

Swiping tears from her cheeks as if she was furious she’d shed them, she turned and buried herself under the covers on the bunk.

Inept? To his surprise, Sin felt heat burn his cheeks.

Deeply ashamed of himself and even more furious than before, he staggered to his feet, buttoned his falls and stormed out of the cabin.

His head was going to explode. What the devil had he done?

Him, Sinner Wolfenden, lover, in demand to exotic houris of the east, to voluptuous beauties of Jamaica and the bored, pleasure-seeking widows of London’s high society.

Lover, so sure of his prowess and expertise, so certain he knew women and all their wiles and aspects.

Lover, inept, who’d carelessly taken his virgin wife so she never wanted him near her again.

Virgin wife.

So—inept. Fuck.

He’d stumbled from the cabin, unable to even look back at the silver-haired faerie-virago who now hid naked in his bunk and banned him from it.

Forever. As she bloody well should.

The scent of honeysuckle was permanently lodged in his sinuses, ensuring he couldn”t forget the sensation of ripping through his wife’s virginity and the sound of her sudden pained cry.

The wind was strengthening. What he was hearing, over and over in his head, was the wind whining through the rigging—surely?

Only vaguely aware of the men of the night-watch observing him warily, he marched a circuit about the decks, his face no doubt reflecting the ugliness of his thoughts, for none offered more than a terse greeting as he passed.

Faster and faster, he paced, his strides longer and heavier, but there was no outpacing the sound of his wife’s pained yelp—or her damning words.

Arrogant, self-serving, selfish and inept. I”m not interested in doing that with you ever again.

His virgin wife.

Where now were all his ugly suspicions?

Had he become so disillusioned with women that he could convince himself an obvious innocent like Lady Verity Davencourt could play the moral-less strumpet, conniving to dupe a man into marriage?

Cynical Sinner Wolfenden, he was in truth.

And the blame for it could be placed squarely at the feet of a golden-haired governess, Gabe’s first love, who”d been more than eager to compensate herself with the younger brother when their father had taken Gabe out of her reach on a long voyage to America.

Gabe, his honorable brother, had been in love.

At seventeen, Sinclair was a year younger than Gabe, but had no such illusions. If it was willing pussy he never hesitated to take what was offered.

Nor had he seen the luscious Miss Scott-Noble as anything other than a self-serving slut. She certainly had not been an innocent. He”d had no doubts Gabe had been there before him and couldn”t help wondering if even Gabe had found her pure.

Yeah, cynical from the start, but that didn”t help mend the right royal mess he”d made of his marriage before it had even begun.

A marriage he now discovered he wanted more with every shallow breath of invigorating sea air he dragged into his lungs. Shallow, because a tight band of panic constricted his chest so breathing was difficult, and his heart thumped violently against the walls of his chest as if trying to break free.

Beyond ascertaining her consent, he’d not offered even a hint of arousal or gentle introduction to the carnal act. Had indeed acted more inept than the first time he’d lain with a woman. There was no shouldering off this shame and standing tall despite it.

No denying he’d given his innocent wife an abhorrence of an act that should have been the most exquisite experience she’d ever had.

No denying he had some serious retrenching to do. Groveling.

Twice, he’d returned to the cabin, but the door was locked, and he hadn”t yet reached the point of desperation that would drive him to shout and demand entrance so all could hear him.

Or batter the door down.

Finally, as the morning star crested the horizon like a beacon in the inky sky, he climbed to the wheelhouse and gruffly dismissed Crabby to his hammock.

As he watched the dawn lighten the eastern skyline, he had to admit that even the feel of the wheel in his hands and the familiar responsiveness of the vessel beneath his feet failed him.

Whenever he tried to settle his thoughts, his wife stole his peace. The sound and image of her pain, the pain he’d inflicted because of his cynical disbelief in her innocence. The blazing fire of her eyes glowing like the finest fire opals while tears glistened on her cheeks like diamonds, those hardest of all gems.

The vicious and bitter finality in her voice when she told him she”d never allow him in her bed.

Ever again.

The dismal realization there had never been another woman”s bed or body he’d craved as he now craved hers.

From which he was banished.

It was the least of the punishment he deserved.

Beware what you wish for, Lady Very, Nanny had often warned. It may not be what you were expecting.

Nanny was old, French, and had come to England with Mama when her family had sent her to live with Uncle Charles Davencourt for a season in London.

The old woman”s cautions were numerous and usually salutary. As in this case, Verity now wished she’d remembered ‘what you wished for was not always what you got’.

It had certainly never occurred to her a man with the rakish reputation of Mr. Sinclair Wolfenden would be so—incompetent.

In her diaries the Comtesse had written men didn”t need to feel any emotion towards a woman in order to—do that.

But her husband had certainly not acted without feeling, but as if he’d wanted to punish her—in which he”d succeeded.

Theirs would be no marriage. Although for better or worse she was wed to the cad. Yes, she could run sniveling home, but Mama and Papa would be devastated if they thought she was not happy in her choice of husband. They’d had enough devastation in their lives without her adding to it.

She could moan and bewail her fate like the child she’d so recently portrayed, but Verity knew she was better than that.

She would take up residence in the house in St James”s Square, re-decorate in the most elegant taste, and recreate herself—as what?

Her old childish persona was long-gone—and she had no desire to recall it. The brief dream she’d had of becoming a cherished and desired wife had been the foolish fantasy of that naive child she”d been, with no basis in reality.

The reality was, Sinner Wolfenden had neither wanted, nor been looking for, a wife.

Dreams and fantasies were for the innocent and naive and she was neither now. So what was she? The question dogged her mind as she hugged her arms tightly about her belly. She still felt pain though she was certain it was more memory than reality. Or shock.

Whatever it was it had definitely killed any desire to offer herself to her husband again.

She should have paid more attention to Mr. Jay’s warning of Sin’s temper and been a little less provoking in her demands.

She knew little about men and their ways and clearly it was best left that way.

Who was this disillusioned creature all frozen and angry inside like an ice queen?

A small snarling sound escaped her as she dowsed the lamp and lay back on the bunk with a savage thump of her head on the pillow.

She’d be the ice queen and freeze parts of cynical Sinner Wolfenden so he never lusted after her again. With another vicious thump to the pillow she laid down hoping that gratifying image was enough to ease her into sleep. She closed her eyes.

Only to have them pop open again as she realized she was trapped on this ship with her now-despised husband for the duration of the voyage.

Staring into the darkness, her thoughts ranged through scenarios from adopting the ice queen persona here aboard ship, to the desperate ploy of leaving the ship at the first port they visited.

But Verity knew herself too well. While solitude and privacy was important to her, she also needed people about her.

Congenial people. And as for setting off on some solitary adventure in a strange city in a strange country where they likely didn”t even speak English, she was not that foolhardy—or desperate.

As her husband, Sinclair owed her his protection, or the protection of his ship, at least.

She would not leave its sanctuary, but she needed to find her own sanctuary aboard this floating prison until they reached London again.

Could she stay locked in the cabin? She would have to rely on Mr. Jay and Hawkeye for all her needs if she did that, and they were already busy enough.

And then it came to her, clear and perfect, and she settled into the abused pillow again with a grim little smile on her lips.

It had been two long, gut-churning days since he’d set eyes on his wife. If she”d left the cabin at all, it had been when he was in the wheelhouse or catching a cat nap in an empty hammock below decks, which Nik or exhaustion had forced on him twice in the last forty-eight hours.

Not that he’d managed much sleep even then. He was sick to his marrowbone, should be shackled to the mast and lashed to within an inch of his life with a cat ‘o nine tails.

He should be keelhauled, tossed overboard to take his chances with the sharks.

Nik had tried talking to him, but there was nothing anyone could say to make this right. Only he could do that, and he was stymied by an innocent, fiery-eyed virago and a locked bloody door.

Stymied by his fear of his own temper should he try that door and find it still locked against him.

Stymied by knowing he’d lost something he now realized was more precious to him than money, ships, or even his long-cherished bachelorhood.

His heart and body had fallen with the headlong plunge of a lead sinker that day he”d seen her cavorting with the abandon of a hoyden while trying to coax a small child out of a fit of the sulks.

His head, however, had refused to recognize the inevitability of the outcome of his inability to control the searing desire she aroused in him.

Every particle of her called to him. The translucent alabaster of her skin and the dusting of fairy freckles across her nose. Her sea-green mermaid’s eyes that could change to the raging tempest of an ocean storm. Her mouth—

Goddammit. Sin shoved himself away from the long table in the galley, and the men on either side of him leapt aside to give him room to swing his leg over the bench and escape.

Escape. If only that were possible. They were trapped on this bloody ship, and one of them needed to make a move to break the wall, now impenetrable and unscalable, between them.

That one was him. He’d take an axe to the bloody door if he had to.

He was halfway to the ladder to go above when it struck him if she had not come out of the cabin she could not have eaten in forty-eight hours.

Was she intending to starve herself to death in there?

A new wave of fury washed over him. Not on his watch.

He strode back to the far end of the galley where the new lad who must have come aboard with Mr. Jay, another one of his strays no doubt, was seated on a stool scrubbing pots in a pan of soapy water.

Mr. Jay was basting something in the oven and Peggy was kneading a huge lump of dough at the other end of the bench.

‘Boy,’ he growled down at the top of the grimy cap covering the lad’s head. ‘Get me a bowl of stew and a slice of buttered bread, and set it on a tray, nice-like, for a lady.’

The lad froze, his hands hovering briefly in the soapy water. Then his head came up, and he looked towards Mr Jay, who turned from what he was doing, the big roasting dish balanced half out of the oven in one hand and the basting cup held aloft in the other.

His glance slid from the lad, who seemed to be in his early teens, to Sin, gripping the scrubbed wooden bench with his clenched fist.

‘Trays are under this end of the bench,’ Mr Jay said with a nod and turned back to what he was doing.

Slowly, the lad rose, wiped his dripping hands on the seat of his trousers and slunk to the far end of the bench to retrieve a wooden tray and set a bowl of stew on it with a slab of bread and a generous dab of butter on the side of the plate. Adding a spoon and knife, he slid the tray along the bench towards Sinclair and then dropped back onto his stool.

‘You got a name, boy?’ Sin asked.

The lad had begun clattering pots as if he’d not heard the question.

‘’E be Nipper,’ Mr Jay said, giving Sin an odd look from under dark beetling brows. ‘’E don”t say much.’

‘Well, thanks, Nipper,’ Sin said, but the lad kept his head down and his hands busy in the washing bucket.

With only one thought on his mind, Sin collected the tray and crossed to the ladder where he needed his concentration to navigate upwards while balancing a bowl of stew and a plate of bread on the heavy wooden tray. Once he reached the top, he slid the tray along the deck while climbing the last few rungs and emerging into the somber light of a pewter sky and the needle sharp pricks of icy raindrops on his face.

The weather had been pleasant and sailing easy for the start of their voyage, but as they sailed north, the sky had begun to darken and the wind to rise. They were navigating the North Sea, although once across the channel they would rarely be out of sight of land.

‘Mr Sinclair, sir.’ Saju appeared at his side. ‘Would you be wanting me to prepare a bath and a change of clothes? You”ve not been back to your cabin since we came aboard.’

Sin had a suspicion his very proper valet was so concerned at the state of his master’s toilette his straight Indian nose actually wrinkled.

‘No, Saju, thank you. There is nothing for you to do except take your ease. I need nothing.’

‘But, Mr. Sinclair,’ the little man began again, his turban trembling with the intensity of his agitation.

‘I said no, Saju. That is all.’

He was never rude or abrupt to his servants and he’d treated his loyal valet to both indignities.

Later. He would apologize later. Right now he had a bride to—woo.

Bloody hell. He did. And he with not a dab of wooing experience to draw on.

Flowers. He was on board ship.

Jewels. He was on board ship.

Outings in Hyde Park. He was—

Simply going to have to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness and the chance to show her he was anything but inept.

Stomping with the frustration of his thoughts, he strode across the deck and up the steps to the cabin he”d been sharing with Nik—his wife’s cabin now. Nik had moved out and was bunking below with the crew, so clearly, he knew what that locked door concealed.

Since urging Sin to seek his bunk that first night aboard, he”d scarcely offered another word, taking his cue from Sin’s black scowl and grim, tight-lipped demeanor.

Nik had known him too long to even bother trying to communicate when Sin presented that closed countenance. Which didn”t mean he wouldn”t ultimately have the whole bloody chronicle out of Sin.

Unlike Sinclair, Nik was inordinately patient. He never gave up, sat Sin out until the bubble burst and whatever damned drama he”d been bottling up was spewed out. And then, his friend was merciless in his dissecting, examining, and castigating.

‘You”re to be married?’ he’d growled incredulously when Sin had finally admitted to him the outcome of his stay at Pennington. ‘I leave you to your own devices—with family and close friends—for a few days and—dammit, what was it about ‘cheese’ you failed to understand? Snap! Parson’s bloody mousetrap, remember?’

He”d never had Nik”s disgust aimed directly at him before, and he had to admit it hadn”t improved his humor.

Balancing the tray in one hand, he knocked on the cabin”s door. No sound came from within.

He thumped harder.

‘Verity. Open this bloody door,’ he snarled. Then he shouted, ‘Open this door, woman, or I”ll chop the bloody thing down.’

There was still no sound from the other side of the door, so he grabbed the doorknob in his free hand and wrenched at it.

The door flew open, and Sin lost his balance. He stumbled into the dim cabin and tossed the tray into the room ahead of him.

As stew splattered across the floor and tin plates clattered into stillness beneath the map table, Sin absorbed the alarming realization the cabin was empty.

Where in blue blazes was his wife?

Where would she go, his naive fairy creature, whose sole life experience outside of the village of Stannesford was a school for young ladies in Bath and a few days in his townhouse in London?

She was trapped and alone on a ship filled with men, many of whom would not think twice before taking advantage of any woman they found aboard. In their view, she could only have one purpose—their pleasure.

He’d kill any bastard who so much as touched her—

Losing his head now would not help him find her.

Where would she go?Could Nik be sheltering her?

His feet had already turned with the intention of thundering up to the wheelhouse and then he faltered.

What if she”d already told Nik what he’d done?

What if she was not there, and he had to admit his crass handling of his wife himself? Shame almost brought him to his knees, but as he stood staring blankly out into the darkness that had deepened in the few minutes he”d been in the cabin, he realized Verity was more important than his shame—or his bloody ego.

He was the one who’d pursued her, and if he”d not had marriage on his mind, then what the devil had he been about?

Man up, Sin, and go and see what Nik knows.

Exposing the extent and result of his loss of control to his best friend was the least he could expect in retribution.

Stepping back out of the cabin, he climbed the stairs to the wheelhouse, where Nik was handing over to Askew, the second mate. Needing to keep the conversation private, Sin dropped back down to the lower deck and waited.

As soon as Nik”s boots hit the boards beside him, Sin blurted the most urgent question in his head.

‘Have you seen my wife?’

Nik steadied himself against the steps and frowned at Sin.

‘You”ve only had her a few days. How come you”ve lost her already?’

When Nik”s accent became more clipped and foreign sounding, Sin knew he was suppressing some strong emotion. Since he couldn”t see his friend’s face clearly in the darkness, he could only guess what it was—which wasn”t hard.

‘I”ve been a right royal ass, and I doubt she’ll ever forgive me.’

A soft, un-princely snort sounded beside Sin.

‘Nothing unusual in that. What did you do? Bawl her out for daring to infiltrate your ship? Your life?’

If only.

‘No.’

‘What—did—you—do?’

He lurched across the deck to the rail and clutched it, wondering if he would lose his dinner overboard.

‘I suspected her of leading me by the nose into marriage because—because she was already pregnant and in need of a husband, which is why I thought to escape for a few weeks so the truth would be revealed when I returned. I ignored her obvious innocence, and when she—demanded consummation, played the bloody siren on the rock, I—lost control. Took her innocence in anger. Caused her pain—’

As the last word left his mouth his whole body iced over and he gripped the rail with rigid fingers as he stared out onto the surging swell of an oily ocean, barely visible in the moonless night. ‘Fuck. Tell Askew to turn the ship about. What if she”s gone overboard?’ Chosen to end her life? Like Eloise Petchell?

His heart stopped beating for several seconds, and when it restarted, the pain in his chest was almost annihilating.

‘I don’t believe Lady Verity would do something that desperate.’ Nik”s hand landed on his shoulder. ‘I’ve never seen you panic, Sin, and you won”t panic now. We’ll search the ship. She will be here somewhere. Someone will be sheltering her. Someone had to have smuggled her aboard in the first place—and my money”s on Mr. Jay. He”s ever a sucker for the victims of this world.’

Sin jerked around under Nik”s hold.

‘Of course. Mr. Jay. The man looks like jailbait, but he has a heart of marshmallow. And the bastard likely knows he could commit any crime short of murder and I’d not sack him—and she had access to him at the house.’

Fireworks exploded in his head, and for a moment, he held tight to the rail again to control his flailing limbs. ‘I know where she is.’

Leaving Nik standing, he raced across the deck to the hatch leading down to the galley, clambered, and half fell down the ladder to stumble past the gaping men still at the table to where the lad he”d left but minutes before was still hunched over the bucket of greasy water washing another stack of tin dinner plates.

Ducking behind the bench, Sin snatched the cap off the lad’s head to reveal a ruthlessly pinned head of silvery blonde curls.

And cheeks and nose daubed with what was probably lamp black. While there was a part of him that registered extreme relief she was safe and not sinking lifelessly to the bottom of a greedy ocean, it was ire that surfaced first.

Black, aflame and blinding.

His beautiful faerie goddess resembled nothing more than an urchin from the stews of London, which was exactly what he”d presumed her to be when he”d first noticed her. One of Mr. Jay”s charity cases. Like Hawkeye.

Having been saved by Sin and his men from being beaten to death in a Jamaican inn, Mr. Jay showed his gratitude to a merciful universe (since Sin had said he didn”t want it) and extended a similar beneficence to every needy waif who crossed his path.

Clearly, Sin’s wife was considered such, for suddenly, the big man was standing over Sin as if he could be as ferocious as he appeared.

‘Lay one ‘and on ‘er, and I”ll toss yer overboard myself.’

The threat was a menacing growl rumbling up from the big man”s throat and instinctively Sin stepped back a little.

Not far, because now he”d found her he had no intention of letting her escape him again.

He glared into the blazing black eyes of his master chef and felt his nostrils flaring and his chest swelling with fury. He”d been so easily duped, betrayed, by a man who owed him his life.

‘I should’ve left you to bleed to death in that miserable Jamaican hellhole,’ Sin grated out between clenched teeth.

‘Maybe yer should’a, ‘n’ maybe you shouldn”a. Either ways, yer ain” touchin’ ‘er till yer”ve dunked yer ‘ead in a bucket o’ water and doused yer bloody temper, Mr. Sin—sir.’

Sin held the belligerent black stare a moment longer, then felt the swell of rage deflate inside him.

‘Aye,’ the big chef said in a steely, flat tone, never taking his eyes off Sin. ‘Ye’ll be a’right now, m’lady. One thing yer sh’d know ‘bout this cove yer wed. His temper be a flashfire thing, ‘n’ then ‘e settles down ‘n’ starts thinkin’ like a gen’leman again. Don”t yer, Mr. Sin?’

His eyes had held Sin’s through all that vaguely threatening speech and only now dropped to where his wife sat, the offensive grubby cap once again hiding her luminous locks.

When she picked up another plate and began scrubbing at it, Mr Jay”s accusing eyes returned to Sin, and he knew he had to make the next move.

‘Verity,’ he said, trying to soften his voice though the words came out in more of a raspy growl. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Verity, I apologize for—for my—temper last night and ask you to come with me back to the cabin so I can apologize properly—and—and we can talk about this.’

If she scrubbed the plate any harder and longer it could well dissolve in the bucket of water.

‘Very?’ He knew he was desperate when he heard himself use her family”s pet name for her.

‘Me name”s Nipper ‘n’ I”m ter ‘elp Mr. Jay. I ain”t leavin’ this ‘ere galley.’

Damn she was good. His innocent, gentle wife, sounded like a brat from the tenements of London.

Even Mr Jay”s brows twitched, and the hint of a grin curled his scarred mouth. The man was no beauty, but the look he bestowed on Sin’s wife could only be called admiration and perhaps affection.

Sin had never felt so helpless in his life. So unsure of himself.

Him, cynical Sinner Wolfenden unsure of himself? The concept was so foreign he stood staring helplessly down at the defiant figure hunched over the bucket.

What the hell did he do now?

There would be no hesitation in his mind on how to deal with one of these men in a similar situation—in any situation—but he was at a total loss at how to proceed with the ephemeral creature he’d compromised into marriage.

Because, for the first time since the Eloise Petchell affair, he’d allowed his cock to rule his actions. Had been powerless to prevent it. And the reason sat at his feet denying him, them, and who she was. Perhaps if he—

‘Nipper, I would like to talk with you. Would you accompany me above—please?’

Did she even realize she was the first person he’d ever petitioned so humbly?

She shook her head so hard the filthy cap almost dislodged. Apparently not.

‘Ain”t leavin’ Mr Jay. ‘E needs me to ‘elp.’

If he wasn”t so aware of his own culpability in all of this and his deep obligation to put things right, he might have laughed. She was that good. What other skills was the woman going to surprise him with?

And how was he to move them beyond this impasse? He was considering tossing her over his shoulder and hauling her up the ladder and into his cabin like a caveman dragging his woman to his lair, when Mr. Jay spoke, in his normal even, soft-spoken way.

‘Seems ter me, yer should leave young Nipper ter ‘is work fer the meantime, Mr Sin, an’ maybe give ’im time ter think on it. Could yer do that?’

Black brows wiggled at Sin across his wife”s bent head, and every male instinct in him wanted to follow through on his last base thought, but he reminded himself, it was that kind of heedless surrendering to his dominant nature that had brought them to this impasse in the first place.

Best to concede—for the moment—though he didn”t have to like it. With a narrowing of his eyes at his chef, he turned for the ladder and for the first time became aware of the utter stillness, the complete silence of the men still seated at the long galley table.

Sweeping them a ferocious glare which had every pair of eyes dropping like dominoes to their plates, he stormed up the ladder.

Nik was waiting at the rail near where the hatch opened onto the deck. Leaning back against the time-smoothed wood, he folded his arms and watched as Sin came upright and cast about for something, anything to vent his frustrations on.

‘You found her then,’ his arsehole friend said with a barely concealed smirk. ‘When I thought on it, it was obvious. Mr. Jay brought another of his strays aboard, and he”s—she”s—been keeping her head down and mouth shut ever since. She was not inclined to accept your apology?’

Never in all their acquaintance since they’d been at Oxford together had he wanted to sink his fist into Prince bloody Anik’s perfectly sculpted features and rearrange them to match those of his bloody, fucking chef.

He needed to hit something, and bashing his own head against the bulwark seemed like a good place to start. For no matter how badly he wanted to blame someone else for the goddamned mess, he knew all culpability was his.

His alone.

He”d go down into the bowels of the ship where the men had set up a makeshift punching bag and batter the need for violence out of his system. The cad who most deserved the thrashing in all of this was himself.