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pleasure. He held her closer and feathered his lips over hers again. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened to him.
Something inside him exploded with a wild burst of possession as Christina clung to him. Her kiss became a plea as their tongues met. He tasted despair and desperation.
Knowing he could change nothing, Drex tore himself away.
At the click of a gun’s hammer, Drex looked up to find Manchester’s weapon pointed at his belly. “Keep your bloody hands off of my granddaughter!”
The mottled red of the man’s complexion, along with the gun, let Drex know the old man meant business.
He nodded slowly and grabbed Lilli’s arm. He wanted to wish her Godspeed and happiness. But the gaze she cast upon him, let him know he ranked lower than Lucifer on her list.
“Give her to me now,” Manchester demanded as Drex’s coach pulled up beside Manchester’s. Hancock jumped to the ground. The duke trained the barrel of his weapon at Drex.
The moment had arrived. Knowing his inadequate well wishes would never repair the damage to Lilli’s emotions—or his heart—Drex guided her to her grandfather’s side. His fingers slid down her arm in a last desperate caress.
She yanked from his touch and turned to Manchester.
The emptiness inside him was mirrored on her face. Knowing he could do nothing to ease either of them pained him more.
“Christina,” her grandfather instructed, “behind me a coach awaits. Get inside. I’ve a few words for this fiend.”
Christina turned to Drex, cast him one last green-eyed glance full of anger and despair, heartache and confusion. New tears gathered in her eyes. Then she whirled around and sprinted into the fog. Drex watched her disappear, feeling as if someone were squeezing his heart dry of life.
Manchester growled, “If you’ve planted a bastard in her belly, I vow I will hunt you down. There will not be a hell good enough for you.”
“I didn’t.”
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A strong part of him, one that ached, wished she had conceived that night on the beach. She would still be with him.
“I’ll get you,” Manchester vowed. “Make no mistake. This battle isn’t over.”
Before he could reply, the duke turned and rushed away. Drex turned to the coaches beside him, where Hancock was attempting to open the door and reach Ryan.
He stepped forward to assist. He would have time later to miss Lilli—a lifetime, in fact. Ryan needed him now.
Gunshots sounded suddenly, a veritable army of them, judging from the retorts echoing across the ghostly field.
Cursing the wily old goat, Drex fell to the ground, as did the men around him. He should have known better than to trust the Lord of the Admiralty.
A bullet ricocheted off the side of Manchester’s abandoned coach with his brother inside. Urgency ignited him to action as he rose and threw himself toward the vehicle.
The coach started to move. Drex clung to the side, one hand clutching the top. He looked up to see one of Manchester’s men on the box, whipping the horses’ backsides.
They rolled faster with every turn of the wheels. Drex yelled for help, but his men had been left behind. Bullets whizzed past him, their blasts a constant retort. He stretched across the coach’s door and jerked on the handle.
The door wouldn’t budge.
With a rousing curse for Manchester’s treachery, Drex renewed his grip on the top of the rolling coach, then sent a fist flying into the window. Glass shattered around him. A sting and gouging of his knuckles later, blood oozed down his hand and ran in rivulets beneath his cuff.
Shaking his abused fist, he reached for the handle inside the coach’s door, only to find it missing.
Horror washed over him in an icy hot rush, crashing through his bloodstream. His mind raced for alternatives, ways to free Ryan from the trap of the swaying vehicle.
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Cursing, he reached for the gun at his side and aimed at the man atop the box, who was whipping the horses to a perilous gallop. He paused to aim carefully, knowing he’d have one shot.
He curled his finger around the trigger, ready to oust Manchester’s man from his seat.
Instead he felt liquid fire inject into his side.
He cried out, fingers clutching the top of the coach. His side burned.
Glancing down, he spotted a stain of red spreading at his side and knew he’d been hit.
Determined to ignore the pain, he raised his gun again. Aiming seemed a Herculean task. His vision blurred. His palms began to sweat. Drex felt his grip on the coach slipping.
Quickly, he fired. And missed.
Pain and despondency racked him as he gripped the side of the vehicle with damp fingers, hanging on for his very life. He felt the blood running down his side in a hot trickle. Dizziness and nausea assailed him at once.
Drex forced his drooping eyelids open and took in the sight of his brother’s beaten face before his fingers slid down the side of the coach and he hurtled to the ground.
* * *
The constant swaying of the ship made Drex’s stomach heave again. He stuck his head over the chamber pot, stomach rolling. With all the gentleness of a hurricane, he lost what little breakfast Hancock had forced down his throat.
When his stomach was empty, Drex raised his head and washed the acrid taste from his mouth with another long swallow of rum. Bleary-eyed, he glanced out the small window and judged the time about noon. He was still on his first bottle today and must drink fast to achieve the oblivion he’d lived in for the past two months. Thoughts were beginning to creep in.
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Thoughts that reminded him he’d lost everything dear to him: Ryan and Lilli, his way of life, his freedom.
Drex clenched his teeth in an effort to blot out reality. Damn it, he would not think of that morning, despite the ache in his slowly-healing side that served as a constant reminder.
He took another deep swallow to block out memory and reason. Of course, he’d known he must give up his attachment to Lilli for Ryan. But to lose them both…
Hancock bustled in moments later bearing another tray of food. Drex’s stomach roiled in protest.
“Ye found the damned bottle, I see,” Hancock grumbled.
“Right where you hid them,” Drex confirmed, then belched.
Hancock grimaced. “Don’t ye think it’s time ye be soberin’ up and gettin’
back to the business at hand?”
“I tried to save Ryan,” he slurred. “I cut out my heart and served it on a platter to Manchester for my brother’s freedom.”
“Don’t mean the fight is over,” Hancock protested, setting the tray of food on his desk. “There must be more than one way to lick that whelp. And if any man can do it, it’s you.”
Drex scowled and turned away from the aroma of bread and cheese, pondering Hancock’s words as the man left. More than one way to beat Manchester and free Ryan? Perhaps, though Lord knew he’d already tried several approaches and failed.
He fantasized that he could find some way to win his brother’s emancipation and Lilli’s heart with one clean sweep.
The fantasy faded against reality’s glare. He was alone, sick and hunted, without a plan, and trapped in a life at sea without end in sight. He couldn’t return to Louisiana and Chantal without Ryan. He’d given his sister-in-law his word.
Perhaps he could return to his first plan, abduct Christina and ransom her back for Ryan.
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No, he couldn’t, he decided, raking a hand through unkempt hair. The plan was too risky for a variety of reasons. Manchester would have his granddaughter heavily guarded. Even if he were able to capture her, his last hostage exchange had included bullets. If one hit Lilli, he’d never forgive himself. Nor was he certain he could keep his hands off her. The last few weeks of her captivity had sorely tested his willpower. She would never know how many times he had simply watched her sleep on their return voyage—and longed to curl her body against his and love her long into the night. And if he did make love to her again, could he let her go? Probably not. Besides, just returning to London was a dangerous feat in itself.