Bash
If yer thinkin’ o’ gettin’ revenge, take a nap instead. Most bad ideas die in their sleep.
— Billy
Iwas the short fuse of a cannon, ready to unleash destruction if someone so much as blinked wrong.
Rosamund fucking Bailey.
“What was the cost, Rosamund?” I asked, grabbing her arm and pulling her into me.
Gasps and murmurs broke out, but fuck them.
The smile that had played on her beautiful face moments ago fell.
“The price still stands if you ruin everything I’ve done to get us here, so get it together and play the role,” she said.
There it was. The captain she’d become while I rotted in Newgate. There wasn’t even the hint of indecision in her, only cool command and confidence. I’d once told her that I hoped I was there to see the moment she figured out who she was, and here we were. This was Rosamund Bailey as she was always meant to be.
Pride warred with anger in my chest, and I willed myself to step back and release her. She was fucking beautiful. With her finery and her ball gown, she was made for this world. I loved the way she looked in her form-fitting pants and loose blouses, but this version of her was- she was intoxicating.
“A year ago, Lord Smith tasked me with finding his nephew, Edward Smith. I was pleased to find him in Paris and convince him that his Uncle was eager to see him back in England as his sole heir.” Edmonds said.
Exclamations erupted, and in the chaos of the revelation, I should have looked at my father’s face, but I needed to know what Rose had given for this.
“What was the price, Rose?” I asked.
“This is insane, he is a goddamn pirate.” James hissed.
“I’ll tell you after, but it isn’t so bad. I promise. All of it was worth it.” Rose whispered, reaching for my hand.
“Do not touch him.” James Allan ground out, grabbing Rose and pulling her back to him.
I reached for my pistol, but of course it wasn’t there. Not having a weapon was a mistake. Though I was sure I could end him with my bare hand.
“Who do you think you are? I will not name you my heir.” My father said, stepping forward.
Rose ripped her arm from James, and I was reminded that she didn’t need saving. She was a force all on her own. Killing James Allan would be solely for me, though.
“You already did,” she said, “Or maybe you want to tell them who he actually is.”
James Allan’s mouth opened and closed, reminding me of a fish. My father, though, the man who’d beat me and demeaned me until I thought myself no better than the dirt on his sill, was ashen. There was no arrogant man who’d hit me when I didn’t enunciate a word correctly. All that was here was an old man, scared.
“I’m sure you are all eager to meet Mr. Smith, but I believe a dance is in order. It’s Christmas after all.” Edmonds said, raising his glass.
The music restarted, a gentle waltz filled with violins that carried across the hall. Rose beamed up at me.
“Ask me to dance,” she ordered.
“You will not-” James said, but she stepped closer to me.
“Ask me,” she repeated, eyes beating into mine like a strong gale.
“Better do what she says, she’s scary these days,” Oscar said with a snort.
Hell, if I knew what was happening and it’d been over a decade since I learned to dance to music like this, but if it meant touching her and hearing her, I’d do it all on my knees.
I held out my hand and dipped my head.
