Part 26 (2/2)
”The s.h.i.+p is moving. Away from the harbor.” Her voice escalated in disbelief.
”Yes,” he said, sounding bored. He glanced skyward, the way one might look at a clock for time, then at the rigging, and he nodded to a man at the wheel, some secret signal, affirmation of some sort.
”You're . . . leaving me with me aboard?”
”Yes.”
”I . . . you . . .”
He simply regarded her with a sort of insufferable patience and one eyebrow c.o.c.ked, as if waiting for a slow child to finish a sentence.
”You can't . . . My G.o.d . . . Lyon . . . you can't . . .”
”Leave with you aboard?” He completed. ”Well, clearly I can.”
She was speechless.
”Are you kidnapping me? Will I be held for ransom?”
He snorted derision at that.
Her words abandoned her yet again. It was so utterly astounding. The temerity was shocking and, yes, rather piratical.
She stared at him.
”Yes?” he prompted mildly.
”I'll scream,” she tried. They were, after all, still within earshot, more or less, of the dock.
”I wouldn't.”
He said this so simply and grimly that she decided against it immediately.
And all of these quite terrifying and efficient-looking men obviously considered him their commander.
And one woman. Digby. Formerly known as Mademoiselle Lilette, aka that b.l.o.o.d.y traitor.
”What sort of madman abducts someone?” She almost spluttered it.
Then again, perhaps she ought not say those sorts of things to a madman.
And he didn't look at all mad. She'd in fact seldom seen anyone look quite so lucid.
”May I point out that you were invited, and then voluntarily boarded, this s.h.i.+p?”
”But I never thought you'd . . . You didn't say you would . . .”
”You used to be infinitely quicker, Olivia. Perhaps you're keeping slower company these days.”
”You never said the s.h.i.+p would be sailing.”
”Funny, isn't it, that the things we don't say can become more important than the things we do say.”
She fell abruptly silent.
He evenly held her gaze, as they were both hurtled back to a night in Pennyroyal Green.
”You will be returned to London in a week or so, unharmed. And no one will know where you were.” His voice was gentler now.
Olivia covered her face with her hands to her cheeks, then brought them down with some effort and shook her head with incredulity.
She began pacing the railing like a caged animal. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Lyon watched her. If she had any notion to fling herself over, he'd s.n.a.t.c.h her back easily enough. He could likely pick her up in one hand by her scruff.
It made him strangely restless and angry.
She was too thin. The fine bones of her lovely, lovely face were etched more sharply, so that she looked like something brittle and porcelain a maiden aunt might keep on the mantel.
She finally stopped pacing and whirled on him.
Still. And after all these years. The muscles of his stomach still tightened when he looked at her. Bracing to withstand her beauty, or whatever elemental thing about her that made him feel that sweet panic of need.
She whirled on him. ”You've lost your mind. You're a . . . you . . . you . . .”
”Before you choose that next word, you might wish to have a care how you address me. After all, you don't know who I am anymore. Or who I've become. If I'm a madman, I might do anything, after all. I've grown accustomed to simply taking what I want.”
”Try 'taking' anything from me, and you may lose an eye.”
”Don't flatter yourself. All I want is a reckoning.”
She fell abruptly silent again.
They locked eyes.
And before his gaze, he watched acceptance and acquiescence set in, and something like peace.
And guilt, too.
She knew precisely what he meant.
Ah, that was Olivia. She had a quicksilver intelligence. And her sense of fairness was unshakable.
He'd never needed to explain anything to her. He'd all but forgotten what a luxury this was, and how it felt. The world had simply felt larger and safer and kinder with her. It had made infinitely more sense, and it had never been the same without her.
She was biting her lip thoughtfully.
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