Cecilia frowned. Had she not been obvious enough? “You don’t have to steal my heart.” Her voice broke, and she had to swallow heavily before she could speak again. Even then, it was only a whisper. “I would give it to you freely if I could.”
“Oh.” He closed his eyes, laid a hand against his breast, savoring the words. “‘Thus much I at least may recall, it hath taught me that what I most cherish’d deserved to be dearest of all.’”
“Byron,” she said with some surprise. “Now, that’s a poet for pirates. And spoken correctly, too. I fear I get to know you even as I must farewell you.”
He opened one eye to look at her, half a smile beneath it. “And no argument at this time will persuade you otherwise?”
Her heart rose with a desperate reply, but she repressed it as surely as Aunt Darlington might have done. “None, sir.”
“Then may I at least kiss youalla prossima?”
“You want to kiss me outside?”
He laughed. “No, it’s an Italian way of saying something like good-bye.”
“So you are Signor de Luca.”
“No,” he said softly. “Just Ned. Just me.”
She shrugged one shoulder, pressing her face against it. “Very well. A farewell kiss.”
Ned smiled. It was not a wicked pirate grin, nor a seductive tilt of the lips. It was gentle, sad, and it melted right through Cecilia until she almost said no—no, don’t kiss me, don’t farewell me, stay forever by my side. But ponderous, polite silence filled her throat, and she could only watch as he stepped toward her again and took her hand.
He tipped it over, and bent his head, and very gently kissed her wrist.
Dinosaurs, mountains, worlds, disappeared as the sun exploded into darkness.
Cecilia felt ashen as they returned downstairs. She was almost to the foyer before she realized she could hear swords clashing in the sitting room. The royal staff were crowded around the doorway, craning their necks anxiously to see what was happening within. Cecilia and Ned pushed their way through.
And then stopped, staring in astonishment.
Miss Darlington stood, wrapped in a silk shawl, with one hand pressed against her wounded ribs while the other held a sword pointed at Queen Victoria.
“Oh dear,” Cecilia murmured.
And the Queen stood with hips swiveled, one hand in the air like that of an opera singer, the other holding a sword pointed at Miss Darlington.
“Oh dear,” Ned sighed.
“You need to move your left foot forward a little more,” Miss Darlington was saying, “and lower your right hand.”
“Like this?” the Queen asked, shuffling about to no effect whatsoever.
“Exactly,” Miss Darlington replied.
“Pardon me, ladies,” Ned interrupted sternly. “I do not think this entirely proper. Your Majesty, she is a pirate.”
“Nonsense,” the Queen scoffed. “A cat may look at a queen.”
“And a queen may look at a pirate maven,” Miss Darlington added.
“Yes, but they shouldn’t raise swords to each other. Someone could get hurt.”
“Oh, don’t be such a fusspot,” Victoria replied. She rolled her eyes, shook her head at Miss Darlington. “Men these days. Albert was the same. ‘Don’t ride in an open carriage for fear of assassins.’ ‘Don’t haveparties.’ ‘Don’t hit me with the furniture.’ They need to develop more spine.”
“True,” Miss Darlington agreed. “And yet.”
Queen Victoria sighed longingly. “And yet. Ah, Major Candent.” She lowered the sword, shaving off the edge of a side table as she did. “Did you find what you were missing?”
