The Duchess and the Dragon Page 13

  A succession of quick jabs to the ribs, and then Linney’s arm held and twisted, and Drake had the man disarmed, the knife skittering across the floor. Daniel proceeded to pound the man with a fist into his face and then another quick jab to his shoulder, spinning him toward Drake. Drake picked up with another punch in the huge man’s face, snapping his neck back, but only momentarily.

  They bounced him back and forth until they were all breathing hard and sweating. Finally Linney slipped on his stolen loot and fell to lie at Drake’s feet. Drake placed a foot on the man’s middle, while Daniel casually pulled out the pistol and trained it to his chest.

  “Where is my money?” Drake bit out the words, pushing against the man’s stomach, trying not to look at his body.

  “I ain’t got your money. Who are you, anyway?”

  Daniel laughed at him. “He’s an English lord, you fool. You’ve picked the wrong man to rob this time, Linney.”

  Drake went along with the dramatics. “Is this all of it? Have you spent it?”

  Linney looked afraid for the first time since awakening. “I didn’t know! I thought it was the captain’s. I swear I did. Don’t have me hanged for it, I beg you.”

  Drake backed away. “Put on some pants. Then collect every coin and return them to the box. Anything you’ve bought with it, too. Gather it up and let us have an accounting of your ill-gotten gains.”

  Linney scrambled to obey, eyeing the gun still held on him, shrugging into ill-fitting pants, then running about the room, scooping up coins and finding a few more on the bedside table. It was a pitiful amount.

  “I can’t gather up what I’ve spent it on,” he admitted to Drake, unable to look Drake in the eye, holding out the box.

  “Let me guess,” Drake drawled out his disgust, “women and liquor.”

  Linney nodded. “Caught up on the rent, too. And some food, but we ate most of that.”

  Drake peered into the box. Not enough to sustain him and Serena for a month. He felt black rage try to overtake him, but he managed to fight it off. He’d been through worse, and some money was better than none.

  His acceptance of his misfortune astounded him.

  Still, he needed to deal with the thief. “Leave town and never return . . . or I will see you hang.” Drake backed from the room.

  Daniel gave the man one last shove, sending him to the floor. “That’s for the women and children on the ship. You would be wise to abandon such a business.”

  Linney nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll be leavin’ today. No more slave drivin’, I swear.”

  With that unlikely promise, Daniel and Drake took their leave.

  Daniel shook his head as they crossed the street. “I’m sorry it wasna more, Drake.”

  Drake tilted his head back, looked up into the sky, and sighed. “Me too, Daniel. Me too.” He turned and grinned at his friend, clapping him on the shoulder. “But it’s enough to buy you a decent dinner, eh? Thick steaks and enough ale to blot out the memory of a naked man with a knife.”

  Daniel laughed. “There’s not enough ale in Philly to do that, man. I fear we’re scarred for life.”

  Drake chuckled. “It was fun though, was it not? I haven’t been in a fight in too long a time. I think I needed it.” He paused, looking at his friend. “Thank you, Daniel. You’re a good friend. I appreciate it more than you know.”

  Daniel shrugged. “Wasna anything. The sight of Linney though . . .” He shook his head and laughed again so hard he stopped walking, tears in his eyes. “That might be givin’ me nightmares for years to come.” After their laughter had died down, Daniel peered at Drake’s injury. “But how’s the shoulder? My dinner can wait. You should get that cut cleaned up. Never know what the fool’s been using his knife for.”

  Drake glanced at the shoulder. It had stopped bleeding but was aching like the devil. Daniel was right. He should have it looked to; infection was nothing to court. “Dinner tomorrow, then. At the same tavern we met at before? Man of Many Sorrows, wasn’t it?”

  Daniel nodded, then stopped. “I’d rather have an invitation to the Winters’ house. Gainful employment . . . all those pretty daughters . . .”

  Drake smiled. “I will see what I can do. But keep your hands off the pretty daughters. I’ve already gotten myself into some trouble in that arena.”

  Daniel’s grin was wolfish. “Didja now? Not the nurse, was it? The angelic one that saved your sorry hide.”

  “Aye. The nurse. The angel. The temptress.”

  Daniel clasped him on the arm as they prepared to part ways on a street corner. “Go let your nurse patch you up then, Drake.” He turned to go, waving his arm. “And win me a dinner with the telling of how brave I was.”

  Drake watched him go. Daniel was a good man. A good friend. It was a relief to be friends with someone without hidden motives, without the constant politicking. He suddenly realized Daniel was his closest friend next to Charles Blaine.

  He’d known Blaine since childhood. Theirs was a friendship born of innocence, before either of them knew anything about power and wealth, only boyish pranks and mischief. Daniel was that kind of friend as well, and Drake was thankful. It was amazing. He was leaving with less than an eighth of his stolen money, he had a nasty gash on his right shoulder, and yet all he felt was the satisfaction of a grand adventure.

  Truly, this had been one of his best days—and he wondered that it should be so.

  SERENA HADN’T REALIZED how closely she’d been watching for Drake’s return until she caught herself clinging to the front window, her heart lifting at the sight of his long stride coming down the lane. But something was wrong. He walked slower than usual and seemed to be breathing heavier. Serena ran out into the yard to meet him.

  Alarm assailed her at the red stain on the bright white of his shirt. “Thou hast been hurt. What has happened?”

  Drake came up to her, pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her. He whispered against her lips. “A flesh wound is all. Will you patch it up, love?”

  Serena reared back. “Thou wert fighting.”

  “Aye. A bit. But I’ve retrieved some of my gold.” He held out a beautifully engraved wooden box. It was small but deep, with delicate carving on the lid. A hunting scene.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you remember when I asked you to find my trunk, while I was sick on board the ship? Well, I’ve recovered the trunk and some, a little, of the money.”

  “Someone stole it? And thou foughtest them to get it back?”

  “My friend Daniel was with me and it was an easy conquest. Only my own foolishness won me a wounding.”

  “Let me see.” Serena led the way to the back of the house and the separate building that was the kitchen.

  Once inside the small, warm room, Drake leaned against the counter and pulled his shirt over his head. He winced as the sleeve pulled against the cut, then held it out for her to examine. “You wouldn’t have any brandy, would you?”

  Serena shook her head then stopped and thought a minute. “Wait here, I will go and get something from the neighbors. They will have something.”

  Drake watched her go, her straight spine intent with purpose, the back of her pale neck, slim and elegant, the white cap covering her glorious hair. He closed his eyes and thought of her hair all around her, like a living veil . . .

  When she returned bearing a dark bottle, he had to clear his throat before he could speak. Her face was close as she grasped hold of his arm, then tilted the bottle with careful precision over the wound.

  It burned, deep into his flesh, but he was so busy watching her face that he barely felt it.

  Serena. How to describe her? He wanted to memorize this moment, knowing that they would change, hoping that they would grow old together but knowing that she would never look exactly this way again.

  Her skin was ivory, with a rosy tint here and there, a flush on her forehead and cheeks and chin. Eyebrows like wings of reddish gold swooping out, giving her a regal mien wh
en she was serious, and an elfish delight when she was happy and laughing. Her face was oval, her chin a little pointed, and her lips, her lips were the coral of a shell he’d seen once, thin with a delicate curve at the top of the upper lip. No dimples. No, she had lean cheeks and high cheekbones, a rather wide forehead accentuated by the scraping back of her hair to fit it all in the cap.

  Suddenly she looked up at him. “What art thou doing, sir?”

  Drake smiled, allowed all he felt for her to glow from his eyes. “I am remembering you just as you are now, so I’ll have that picture in my mind for years to come.”

  She stared at him, a deep smile coming into her green eyes, happiness and something else that she’d recently learned—a flirtatious, admiring look—curving her lips. “I would like to do the same.”

  Drake offered a wicked grin for her answer. “Then you shall. Are you finished with that bandage?”

  Serena nodded, looking shy and eager at the same time. She tied the two ends together, making a perfectly fitting bandage over the cut. “’Tis only a flesh wound and should heal in a few days.” She washed her hands in a bowl of water, dried them on a muslin towel and then turned to face him, so unsure now, her hands loosely held behind her back, her head down.

  “Come here, Serena.”

  She moved closer, then lifted her face to stare into his eyes.

  “Look at me.”

  She took a deep breath, her hands still safely behind her back, her eyes roaming over his face. He felt himself flush, surprised that he could be embarrassed by something so simple as a woman’s scrutiny. And yet, it was as powerful as anything he’d ever imagined.

  He watched her study his hair, his eyebrows and forehead, his nose. He grinned then, unable to suppress it, knowing he had such an aristocratic nose, the nose of his Celtic ancestors. She smiled back, her breathing deeper now. Her gaze traveled across his cheeks like she was studying the hollows and planes of a map, then they stopped at his lips. Her lips curved into a slow smile as she took another deep breath.

  Pressing her lips together she seemed to force her gaze lower, to his chin, studying the stubble as it grew in a thick patch down his throat. He truly hated shaving and only managed it every other day.

  She didn’t stop, as he thought she might, as he had. No, her study continued down to his shoulders and then his chest until he thought he might explode—

  Serena backed up suddenly, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “What art thou doing to me? What power dost thou have over my mind and heart?”

  Drake shook his head. “It is the same for me, love. I am undone.”

  She stared into his eyes, so many emotions in those beautiful depths: fear . . . longing . . . tenderness . . . more fear. She swallowed hard, the slim column of her throat working. “I do not know what to do. I have painted it. I have gone to meeting and . . . I thought I knew, but . . .”

  Drake wanted to take her into his arms and reassure her. He wanted, more than anything, to kiss her doubts away and tell her that everything would work out perfectly, but he couldn’t. Only she could make this decision.

  He pushed away from the counter, slipped his shirt over his head and walked toward the door. Turning, he gazed at her, standing there in the late afternoon sun. “I would give up everything to be with you, Serena.”

  It was the truth and that was the best thing he could

  give her.

  He turned and walked away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Serena stood at the back of the strange church, the reality of what she was doing chipping away at her happiness, causing the butterflies in the pit of her stomach to feel more like bouncing lead balls instead of a bride’s wedding jitters.

  There were few to witness their marriage. Gone were all the Birthright Friends that Serena had known since childhood, the foundation of her life. Gone was the guarded fence of her church, leaving her a colt, running free, seeing the world anew with wide, blinking eyes.

  Her father had been required to explain their marriage to the Quakers at the monthly business meeting, and Serena hadn’t needed to imagine their reactions. They had come, knocking at the Winters’ door, shocked and dismayed, squawking at her like chickens whose eggs were snatched away.

  At night, lying next to her sister’s warm and familiar body, the naysayers’ voices rattled about in her dreams, causing her to toss and turn, knowing that little by little the life she’d always known was slipping away. Her mother had finally told them that Serena had heard enough. It was decided. She would be “read out of meeting” and banished. The weight, like a heavy blanket thrown over her head, damned and dampened what she knew should have been the most joyous of times, the planning of her wedding.

  Her smile wobbled, but she forced it upright. She had always pictured it so different, playacting with her dolls as a child and then, older, in her imagination. Her dream wedding had always been set against the backdrop of the plain meetinghouse with all the Friends in attendance, faces wreathed in smiles, broad foreheads glistening with the sweat of a summer’s day, the bridegroom saying his vows, she saying hers. Then the Friends speaking out their blessings, their convictions for such a couple . . .

  But no. This was Drake, and it was early, gusty spring, a time when thunderstorms reigned. And she loved him with everything in her set apart to love.

  Mary Ann stood up with her. The rest of her family filled the first row in the pew of Christ Church, a Protestant Episcopal church on Second Street, similar to one Drake would have attended in England. That her parents had entered such a sanctuary in their plain, brown shoes appeared a blunder. But they had. For her.

  Drake arranged it all. The license, the church, even a simple dinner and room of their own afterward at a nearby inn. All was in readiness for their beginning. He had no family present, a fact that saddened Serena, but Drake had brought his friend from the voyage, Daniel McLaughlin, to stand witness with him. A charming man who expressed interest in an apprenticeship with Serena’s father—and had looked overlong at Mary Ann.

  Little wonder her father said he had help enough.

  With quiet intent, Serena lifted her chin and started down the long, decadent aisle, with its crimson runner of carpet, into the echoing emptiness of the room’s vaulted ceilings.

  He was waiting for her, looking devastatingly handsome. Dark-blue silk clung to his shoulders, falling into the graceful lines of a coat. His waistcoat was a shade lighter with matching and darker shades of swirling embroidery, a striking white neckcloth fell in neat, starched folds. His hair, dark and unbound, was swept carelessly away from his forehead, waving, framing his face . . . a face and form that was every inch the nobleman he swore he was not. Looking into his eyes, heavy with the promise of a life she could only imagine, she walked on, little but shaky breaths and the conviction of her heart carrying her.

  She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.

  It was her wedding march.

  The sunlight filtered over them into myriad colors, split by the opulence of the stained-glass windows. Streaks of bright light haloed the altar and Serena inhaled suddenly, feeling as if she was walking out of drab browns and grays into the brilliant colors of life. An intoxicating excitement rose to her throat, threatening sobs. She held them back and inhaled instead, blinking out the tears, reaching him, reaching out for his hand. The strong

  warmth of his hand clasped hers like a root grafting with a young plant.

  Serena looked up into Drake’s eyes, ready to make any vows necessary to make him her own.

  DRAKE LOOKED DOWN at his bride, pride nearly crushing him.

  She looked the picture of virtue in a gown the color of dark cream. Her hair sat atop her head in a shining red-gold mass of thick braids and curls. A band of small pink rosebuds haloed the curls, their stems a tightly intertwined crown. There was no cap now. Her face was pale and glowing, her neck as graceful as any swan’s he had ever seen on the lakes of Northumberland, her delicate collarbones as elegant and stately as
the jewels of a queen.

  What he wouldn’t have done to give her the magnificent London wedding she deserved. He would relish seeing her in rich satin and jewels, the envy of the civilized world. But Serena would never be in London . . . would probably not wish to be, he realized.

  Gazing at her beauty, her tranquility, he had a blinding realization that caused him to grasp more tightly to her hand and almost falter as he turned toward the minister: Had he not left all behind, he never would have found her. For the first time, he had something to be thankful for in the wake of his ruined existence. Had he stayed in London, he would have wed one of the haughty women of the ton, a woman in whose eyes he would have seen a hunger that was never satisfied. Instead, he was marrying a woman of quiet strength and faith, all of which gave the very air around her peace.

  Was she not worth a dukedom?

  Yes. A thousand times yes. That and more. She was worth all that he had gone through to have her.

  The ceremony began with the sacraments of communion, something the Friends had rejected, believing that the sacraments of the cross were lived out each day, not in a ceremony. Serena faltered a little when given the ornate golden cup of blood-red wine, but only for a moment. She knew this was only the first of many new things she would now have to embrace.

  Her vows were simple and stated with a strong voice that surprised her as she promised to become Drake’s. His vows were similar, but stated with such heartfelt conviction that she was, again, moved to tears. Then he pulled a stunning silver ring from his pocket.

  She stared at him, lips open, trying to remember to breathe.

  He looked down, shy for a moment, then he leaned closer.

  “Your father helped me make it,” he whispered for her ears only as he slid it onto her finger. She stared at it in awe, never having seen anything so lavish. A silver band that grew in thickness toward its center where the tall silver setting held a huge, square, glittering sapphire with smaller diamonds mounted around about it, the guardians of greatness.