A Thoroughly Compromised Lady (24 page)

Jack cleared his throat. ‘Ahem, yes, I suppose that might appear to be true.' Somehow, in the euphoria of his decision, he'd forgot Dulci might still be in a pique.

She gave one of her head tosses, her tone dispassionate. ‘What have you come to say, Jack? If you've come to argue the right ness of your position one more time, I'm in no mood for it. I disagree with it entirely and I don't see that changing.'

‘I agree,' Jack said simply. That was one way to end an argument and in this case, a rather effective choice.

‘Agree? As in agree to disagree?' Dulci sighed heavily. ‘I'm too tired to work out your double negatives.'

‘No, agree as in you're right to disagree with my earlier position. I disagree with it too. You're only across the boat and I can't stand it. I don't think I could survive sending you away, and frankly, I don't want to—send you away, that is,' Jack clarified.

Dulci's eyes narrowed as she studied him. Jack couldn't decide if that was good or bad. ‘What has
brought this on?' she asked, far too coolly detached for Jack's tastes.

‘I took a good hard look at the reality I was creating for both of us. I'd only thought of it philosophically before. But when I started thinking about what it honestly meant to give you up, to never lie beside you, to not have you with me when I see land no Englishman has ever set foot on…' Jack shook his head. ‘Well, I knew if I couldn't stand imagining it, I surely couldn't stand living it. Dulci, I was wrong when I said there would be peace in knowing you would be out there somewhere, safe. It wouldn't be peace at all. It would be hell, the worst torture I could devise for myself.'

‘What exactly are you saying, Jack?' Dulci's eyes had lost their hardness, her voice was soft and breath less in the dark.

‘I'm saying I want you for my wife, my partner in all things. You already are, I told you as much last night.'

Dulci took a step towards him, closing the gap. She held out her hands to him, that coy smile of hers on her lips. ‘I'm already your wife too, if I recall correctly.' She ran her thumb over his wrist.

‘Yes, you're already my wife.' Jack laughed, drawing her against him. ‘You and I know it, but we'll probably want to do it again in a church just to appease the legal system.'

Dulci looked up at him, serious for the moment. ‘And the risks, Jack? What changed your mind about those?'

‘There are always risks, just different sorts. Being without you is not a risk I am willing to take any longer. But, Dulci, being my partner, being my wife, won't stop
me from wanting to protect you. A man protects what he loves.'

Dulci smiled at him warmly, her blue eyes dancing. ‘So does a woman, Jack.'

October, roughly three months later

J
ack stood at the front of the sanctuary, aware that he was the focus of the collective gaze of guests assembled in the pews of St Andrew's Kirk. Some were there out of curiosity; it wasn't every day a viscount was married in their midst. Some were there out of friendship. But whatever their motives for attending, Jack had no eyes for them. His gaze fixed on his future moving towards him down the aisle on Governor Carmichael-Smythe's arm: Dulci, a radiant vision in a gown of pale blue trimmed with pale yellow ribbons, a bouquet of creamy roses in her hands, her own gaze steady and unwavering for him alone, not the least distracted by the guests lining the pews.

Of course, there were notable absences, too, Jack reflected. Neither he nor Dulci had family present, nor was Robert yet returned from the mapping expedition.

They had not wanted to wait.

Robert's date of return was ambiguous and there would be no more ships until spring even if Brandon and Nora were to brave the voyage. Jack could not fathom waiting six more months to make Dulci his wife.

Counting their return journey from the jungles and the time it had taken for him to make a few necessary arrangements—such as a house for them—it had already been three months since he and Dulci had committed to each other. The words they had shared in the dark on board their travel ling boat would for ever be etched in his mind for their potency. No vows could ever be more compelling to Jack than their promise to protect one another, this belief that protection was not a man's duty alone.

Those words bound them together irrevocably in Jack's eyes. In the eyes of his pagan ancestors perhaps they were bound even earlier than that in Dulci's simple hand fasting.

Dulci neared and Jack took her hand firmly in his own, unable to contain the smile that had lurked at the corners of his mouth any longer. Today he would marry this fine woman. They would feast at the governor's table in celebration of their nuptials and of Jack's new post. Confident that Jack's name would be officially cleared when Schomburgk returned, Governor Carmichael-Smythe had already appointed him to a position in the gubernatorial cabinet.

Then he would take her home to begin the most important journey of his life.

They were together. That was all that mattered. There'd been no sense in waiting for Schomburgk's findings or a letter from the king or Brandon's consent.
Those things would come in time and would not alter their love.

Dulci turned her face up to him, her eyes shining with proof that their love lived in a kingdom of its own, ungoverned by the caprices of politics and princes. Jack bent close to her ear as the ceremony began. ‘Dulci, you're my greatest adventure.'

She reached up on her tip-toes, oblivious to the on lookers to whisper in response, ‘And you, Jack, are mine.'