“I’m afraid so. I’m terrifically sorry, my darling.”
She still looked as though she didn’t believe him. “But how on earth did the story spread?”
He shrugged. “My guess is that a Scots sea captain was already such an exotic addition to this secret corner of England that stitching piracy onto his history meant only an inch more embroidery. In people’s imaginations, it’s a wee step from navy man to lawless buccaneer, I suppose. At least it is in landlocked Penton Wyck.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I tried a couple of times. But I must admit, on other occasions…”
“You couldn’t resist leading me on?”
“I couldn’t help myself.” He couldn’t interpret her reaction. She was back to avoiding his eyes. “Are you very disappointed? I’m sure I could launch a career as a pirate, now that I’ve retired from the navy, but it would mean going back to sea. And I’d much rather stay here with you.”
She sighed as heavily as if she’d slept through Christmas and missed all the fun. “I thought I was being so adventurous when I fell in love with you.”
“I know.”
“I’ll just have to face the painful truth and struggle on.” She raised her chin and at last, he caught the laughter in her face. “It’s too late to reject you and find a real pirate.”
He should have realized before this that she’d learn to accept his vilely unblemished past. He wasn’t the only one who liked to tease.
His eyes narrowed. “My dear Lady Channing, let’s get one thing straight—you’ll seek no pirate lovers while you’re married to me.”
She tilted her head. “Or what?”
He dragged her under him. “I’ll put you in the brig.”
“You could.” To his delight, she linked her hands behind his head and arched up until her breasts brushed his chest. She’d clearly forgiven his lack of piratical history. “But I might get lonely there.”
“Well, t
hat won’t do.” He dropped a kiss on the racing pulse at the base of her throat. It seemed he wasn’t the only one getting excited. “I could maroon you on a desert isle.”
She pouted and tugged at his hair. “Even lonelier than the brig.”
He trailed his lips up the silky length of her throat and felt her shiver in quick response. “Not if I shared the island, too.”
“I…don’t like coconuts,” she said unsteadily as he nipped at her earlobe.
“Then that won’t do either. That settles it.” He smiled down at this woman he adored. He knew he must look completely pudding-brained with love, but he didn’t give a tinker’s damn. “I’ll just have to make every day of our life together an adventure, my bonnie. Starting this very minute.”
Epilogue
Christmas Eve, 1823
Bess, Countess of Channing, emerged from the doors of Penton Abbey to survey the crowd assembled for the nativity play. This year, Sally Potts was a much more confident angel. Dr. Simpson was, as always, the innkeeper. Daisy pretended to be a biddable beast, but Bess didn’t trust the way she eyed Melchior’s crown. Ned White made his debut as Caspar. Last autumn, old George Morrow, who had filled the part for fifty years, had passed away peacefully in his sleep.
She smiled as her gaze traveled over her friends and neighbors dressed as shepherds and angels. Some new faces. A few old ones missing.
The year had brought so many changes to Penton Wyck. Not least the wholesale acceptance of the new earl. Her smile widened as her attention focused on the tall, russet-haired gentleman playing Joseph—and also keeping a wary eye on Daisy.
When she’d married Rory, Bess had been sure she couldn’t love him more. But a year had deepened her understanding and respect for her brave, openhearted husband. Today she watched him doing his best to appear at ease in a striped woolen robe, and she felt like love filled her whole life from corner to corner.
Sensing her observation, he raised his head and sent her an answering smile. She loved this preternatural connection they shared.
The footmen, now augmented to six, moved through the throng, serving the hot toddies that had proven so popular last year. Then an expectant silence fell as Rory raised his cup.
“This is my second year as part of this splendid Christmas pageant. I’d like to thank you all for your hard work. We look forward to another grand success. I’d also like to express my gratitude to the woman who is the heart of this community, my beloved wife. Bess, thank you for making me part of your world. When I arrived in Penton Wyck last year, I had no idea I’d found my true home. But you—and everyone here—have made me feel like I belong. I doubt there’s a more contented man in England…”