Page 9 of The Duke of Ruin
Indeed, the second her foot touched the slimy stones of the docks, a roguishly handsome man, dressed in clothes immaculate but stiff from sea salt, stepped forward.
"My sincerest congratulations, your Grace," the captain said with a smile. It took Liv a moment to understand that it was she he was addressing. She was a Duchess now; the thought gave her no joy.
"Thank you, Captain -?"
"Black," the man helpfully supplied.
"My biggest fear in life, was that I would marry a man called Black," Liv confessed with a smile, for the handsome rogue had a most charming disposition, that invited secrets. "For then I would have gone from Olive Greene to Olive Black, and I would never have lived it down."
"Have no fear, your Grace," Captain Black said, with an amused glance at the Duke who was glaring at him angrily, a simmering mountain of jealous rage, "His Grace would never give you over to another man, now that you are his."
"Is the cargo loaded?" Ruan interjected, tired, it seemed, of all the niceties, and wishing to break the two apart.
The Duke and the Captain descended into conversation about the load in the cargo hold, the currents in the Avon Gorge, and the weather expected once they were at sea. Liv trailed behind them along the dock, feeling quite at sea herself. She had never visited this part of Bristol, it being reserved for sailors and the working classes, not gently born ladies. She gazed about in awe, at the plethora of activities going on around her. Men moved about, not caring if they jostled or knocked into her, which some did. There were so many of them, all brown, freckled or alarmingly red from the strong sun, and a lot of them appeared to be missing half their teeth, she noted with alarm. And then her eyes fell upon The Seven Stars Inn, and she knew why so many sailors were making their way in that direction. For in the building next door to the pub, disreputable ladies leaned out the windows waving silken scarves, trying to entice the men inside.
A brothel.
Liv flushed, and stole a glance at her husband, wondering if he had ever sought pleasure there. As though feeling her gaze upon his broad back, the Duke stopped and turned to look at her.
"This is ours," he nodded to the huge vessel, docked at the berth, a proud expression on his face.
"It's rather large," Liv answered, wondering what on earth she was supposed to say about his ship. Was it like a carriage or a phaeton? Did men seek endless compliments on its form and structure, as though it was an extension of their own self? Liv had been bored to tears, during her short season, by men obsessed with their vehicles --she hoped her husband was not of the same ilk.
"Of course, it's large," the Duke's sensuous mouth quirked with amusement. "It's a ship. Come."
To her surprise, and Captain Black's delight, the Duke walked over to her purposefully and hauled her up into his arms.
"W-what are you doing?" Liv asked, as cat calls sounded out around them. The feeling of being pressed so close against his chest was most disconcerting, and for a minute she was glad that he held her in his arms, for her legs would have given out beneath her at the dizzy sensation that had overtaken her.
"I'm carrying you over the threshold," Ruan said, glancing down at her with blue eyes that sparkled with amusement. He knew that she was uncomfortable, and the wretch found it entertaining.
"It's not necessary, your Grace," Liv protested, to no avail. "I can walk."
"I've told you, wife dearest," Ruan dropped his head to whisper in her ear, his voice menacing and soft, his breath tickling her sensitive skin. "You must call me Ruan."
"Ruan," Liv echoed faintly.
He carried her up the gangplank, as though she weighed no more than a sack of coal. The crew ofThe Elizabeth, being too well trained to wolf whistle, saluted as he strode across the deck and kicked the door open to the small hallway which led to the cabins.
"Here we are."
Ruan let her down gently, his hand reaching out to steady her as Liv stumbled. The floor was solid, but it rocked from the lapping waves that jostled the boat; a queer, unsteady feeling she had never experienced. The cabin was large enough, and scrupulously clean. There were no decorative items, just a bed, a small chest of drawers, as well as a table and chair.
"It's lovely," she offered, idly wondering where herportmanteauhad got to. The battered, leather bag was the only thing she had left of home, and in it she had stuffed the few items of clothing she possessed alongside a miniature of her mother. A sad collection of belongings for a woman of three and twenty.
"It's not lovely," Ruan growled, waving a dismissive hand at the cabin. "But it's clean, and it will get you safely to France, where you shall have any luxury your heart desires."
Liv wondered when her new husband would notice that her heart did not desire luxuries, diamonds, or dresses. He had taken her home from her, ripped her away from the village she had grown up in and utterly destroyed any tenuous shred of love she had left for her father. He had ruined her, as surely as he had ruined every other life he decided to play with, and now he was expecting her to be pleased that her miserable days would be spent in luxurious surroundings.
"Thank you, your Grace," she said, through gritted teeth, turning to inspect the cabin further.
"I've told you," he came up behind her, spinning her around so that she faced him, "To call me Ruan."
He was huge, the tip of her head just reached his chest, and she had to lean back so that she could look him in the eyes.
"It's an apt name," she whispered, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and desire. She had never found a man to be so compellingly attractive as the Duke of Everleigh. His features were perfection, ice blue eyes, framed by thick black lashes, a straight aristocratic nose and a mouth so beautiful it was almost cruel.
Heiscruel, she reminded herself sternly, though her body had melted at just one brief touch.
