What a Duke Dares (Sons of Sin 3)

re done. His life would return to its assigned path. Playing the omnipotent Duke of Sedgemoor. Restoring some respect to the family name. Running his estates and investments. Marriage to Marianne Seaton.

He should be delighted. Instead, he felt like red-hot pincers ripped out his guts.

Chapter Thirteen

As the boat slid into the stone harbor, the cessation of pitching seemed a miracle to Pen.

Her body felt made of wet string. Battered wet string. Even breathing hurt. She was shaking and her teeth chattered, despite Cam’s best efforts to keep her warm. He must curse her for the loss of not only his yacht, but his crew.

He should have let her drown.

But of course he wouldn’t. He was too honorable. The offer he’d made before the ship foundered was the exception that proved the rule. She’d been so furious with him. Right now, having come so close to dying, it was hard to reawaken her outrage. Especially when he’d nearly died himself trying to save her.

The boat bumped against the pier and rocked as the sailor at the bow tied it to a metal hook. Daylight gradually returned as the storm abated.

When Pen struggled to stand, her legs folded beneath her. Predictably Cam caught her.

“Let me help you,” he said softly.

Once they were safely on the dock, Cam swept her into his arms. She curled into his powerful body against the onlookers’ curiosity. Taking those first painful gasps of air after nearly drowning, modesty had been the last thing on her mind. Now despite the weather, a crowd surrounded them and she was grateful for the concealing blanket.

“Come away to the Leaping Mackerel, sir,” a man said at Cam’s shoulder. “There’s food and a fire and we’ll fetch the doctor.”

“Thank you.” Cam sounded remarkably like his usual self, instead of the shaken man who had rescued her. He spoke over her head to the crew who had saved them. “And thanks to you. We owe you our lives.”

“It’s nothing, laddie,” the bearded man said.

Pen couldn’t imagine anyone calling haughty Camden Rothermere “laddie” since he was breeched. Probably not even before then. “Nonetheless, your gallantry won’t go unrewarded.”

“Thank you,” she choked out.

The man nodded before turning away to stow the boat. Her hands tightened around Cam’s shoulders as he strode along the quay. Rain sheeted down, but they were already so wet it made little difference.

Cam’s ordeal had hardly been less taxing than hers. “I can walk.”

“Don’t be a fool.” His grip tightened as if he’d fight anyone for the right to carry her.

Pen surrendered to the forbidden luxury of his touch. She was too tired and sore to resist. Feeding her senses with his salty, clean scent and the heat of his body, she hid her face against his bare chest. For a dangerous interval, she floated in a world where Cam’s arms welcomed her forever.

Cam marched through the crowd, responding briefly to congratulations and good wishes. Pen’s contentment was short-lived. The onslaught of noise and warmth when they entered the inn dazed her as if she’d stumbled into civilization after being lost in the wilderness.

“Is the doctor here?” Cam shouldered his way through the packed taproom. Gently he placed her on a padded bench near the fire.

“Aye, sir.” A thickset middle-aged man appeared behind Cam. “I’ll see to the lady.” Although she missed Cam’s arms, Pen sat quietly while the doctor took her wrist to check her pulse.

“She’ll want a nice cup of tea. And you’ll have brandy, I’m sure, my lord.” A woman who must be the innkeeper’s wife bustled forward with a brimming glass that she shoved at Cam. “I’m Mrs. Skillings. Welcome to the Leaping Mackerel, Ramsgate’s finest inn.”

Cam looked like a ragamuffin, wet and filthy in his tattered clothing. But Mrs. Skillings hadn’t mistaken his accent or bearing. Cam could stand naked surrounded by polar bears in Greenland and he’d still appear exactly what he was, an English nobleman of the highest standing.

“Thank you.” He accepted the brandy, but instead of drinking it, he offered it to Pen.

“You’re too kind.” How true that was.

Wincing, she extended one hand from under her blanket to take the glass. She felt like she’d been through twelve rounds with Tom Cribb. And the boxer had won. Now that she was safe, she felt the sting and ache of innumerable scrapes and bruises. Despite the fire in the hearth, she shivered. The chill extended to her bones. When she drank, the spirits settled in her belly and stirred her sluggish blood.

“My lady needs a coat,” Cam said to the room at large.

“So do you,” Pen said softly. Cam looked magnificent with his bare chest and torn breeches. Like a marooned pirate king. But he’d been immersed in cold water as long as she had.