Chapter Thirty
“We can still turn the ship around,” Ian murmured against Diana’s bare back.
Her skin was warm and damp from his mouth and perspiration from their exertion over the evening. He was torn between stoking her for another round and letting her rest to conserve her energy for the days ahead.
“Not bloody likely,” Diana slurred. “Too much cargo on this steamer.”
In the months following the debacle in Florence, the Stags network as Widow had built it had dissolved. But Diana, Amelia, and a few trusted partners were still working to move women to safety.
“And I have no authority on this vessel,” she added. “The Wildes own this ship, not me.”
“That wouldn’t stop us.”
Her low laugh made his cock stir.
“We can’t put off our return to London any longer,” she insisted. “Beatrix and Henry need us.”
It was the only reason Ian had agreed to abandon San Genaro, where they’d spent a blissful sabbatical away from the world.
The first few weeks, they’d only left the villa to walk the shoreline and fish for sea bream.
The rest of the time they ate, drank, and made love on every flat surface in the villa.
But reality had crept in. Correspondence found them.
First, in the form of Jared’s notice of resignation and his expatriation to America, with Polly and Johnny.
Later, Amelia and Sunderland each needed their counsel on the fallout from Il Gioco and the dissolution of the Stags.
Then they were inundated with inquiries about the running of the various enterprises bearing their names.
When Hepburn had finally sent word about Henry and Beatrix, they couldn’t ignore the summons.
“I hated leaving the villa,” Ian complained.
“You hide it so well.”
He gave her a playful smack on her bare bottom and the muffled moan she emitted made him hard again. “I still think we could have managed it all from San Genaro.”
“But then it would lose its magic,” she argued. “It’s our haven. I don’t want business to invade it.”
They’d intentionally avoided deciding anything about the future of Holt he’d been so swept up, he’d come inside her before pulling out. Diana hadn’t appeared troubled by it, but he was.
In their seaside paradise, they’d neglected to renew their discussions on marriage.
When they’d stopped in Paris to usher in the new year, he’d slipped away and bought her a ring, but it hadn’t seemed like the right time to give it to her.
He didn’t want to contrive their engagement because they needed to cover some scandal when they returned to London.
Diana deserved more than that.
They both did.
A sharp rapping at the door jolted him awake.
His pistol was in his hand before his feet hit the floor, and when he realized Diana was gone, he cocked the trigger.
“Sir?” a muffled voice called. “May I come in?”
Ian yanked the door open. “Hepburn?”
“Morning, sir.” As his former valet strode into the room, Hepburn’s eyes flicked to the pistol before Ian locked it.
“Where’s Diana?” Ian demanded.
“Lovely to see you again as well, sir.”
“How did you get here? What bloody time is it? And what the hell is going on?”
Hepburn snapped open a valise and pulled out a razor and brush. “To answer your questions in order, sir. Miss Rives is on the promenade deck, expecting you. I boarded when the ship ported at Calais. It’s half-past seven in the morning, two hours before we’re due into Southampton.”
The valet cleared his throat. “And I think I’ll let Miss Rives answer your last question.”
In a daze, Ian allowed Hepburn to oversee his toilet, which involved a loud protest over the state of his former employer’s hair as he trimmed it, the best shave Ian had received in months, and a full report on how Henry had fared during Hepburn’s brief tenure with his friend.
“If I may be frank, sir,” he said. “Mr. Eden doesn’t need me half as much as you do.”
Ian fought a smile while the valet helped him into a gray morning coat. “I missed you too, old man.”
Hepburn made a harumph in the back of his throat and held the door open. “Your lady awaits.”
As Ian tore down the corridor, he ignored the pleas to mind his hair.
When he emerged on deck, the sun rising over the English Channel momentarily blinded him. It was a miracle it had appeared at all in the dead of winter. His eyesight adjusted, and he scanned the open deck. A small cluster of people huddled in two groups, forming a makeshift aisle.
Diana stood at the end, shining brighter than the winter sun.
She wore a simple ivory gown with little embellishment beyond a lace overlay. A fur capelet and muff protected her from the frigid air. No veil would have survived the wind on deck.
Instead, she wore a tiara of emeralds.
As she caught sight of him, her face broke into a smile that no artist could capture. The one that could have launched a thousand ships and broken a thousand hearts.
It had healed his own.
Ian staggered across the deck. Before he could reach for Diana, Hepburn interceded and forced his arms into an overcoat of fine black cashmere.
Finally, he curled his arm around Diana’s waist and gathered her close.
Her smile glittered as she raised her beautiful brow. “Did you know that a ship’s captain has the authority to preside over marriages?”
“I did,” he confirmed as he caressed her face.
“Then, Ian Genaro Holt. My scheming friend. My love. Will you promise to spend forever with me, in an official and legal capacity, as my wedded husband?”
Ian slipped the emerald and diamond ring around her finger as his mouth descended on hers. He warmed her cold lips with the heat of his kiss.
“I do.”
Thank you for reading Runaway Rogue, book two of Damsels in Disguise.