“Ooh,” murmured the passengers. Not the answer a boat full of romantic Irish folk were looking for.
She tapped her finger on the rail. “Not acceptable. Give me one good reason why I should step off this boat?”
“And get on with it,” a voice belted out bravely from the back, “I wanna get home to my own colleen.”
“I…miss you,” he growled low, but the light sea breeze wafted his words for all to hear.
Mrs O’Driscoll nudged her. “Not good enough, I’d say. I miss cake and my best friend Dierdre but ’tisn’t the same.”
“And?” Aideen prompted.
He scowled. “Do you really wish me to speak my heart in front of the residents of Milford Haven, a boat full of scurvy sailors and a disparate group of nosy passengers?”
Everyone nodded, pressing closer. “And who’s he callin’ nosy?” someone muttered.
Well, when the duke put it like that… “Yes, I do.”
His shoulders slumped, and she suddenly worried that maybe she’d pushed him too far. He was a proud duke after all.
Alexander could jibber about wifely duty all he wanted, but a man didn’t follow that rutted road on horseback for days on end, endure a soaking and end up saddle-sore unless he felt…something.
She would be brave and reveal her heart first.
“I love you.”
But her words had been overlaid by his deeper tone. The same admission, the same pledge, the same truth.
His head lifted and shoulders eased, gaze directed solely at her from the quayside. “I apologise, Aideen. I apologise for being an utter arse. For not telling you of my fears, for shunning you when all I wanted to do was haul you close, for not telling you before today that I love you so damn much. Indeed, have loved you from the first.”
The words exploded in her heart, hurling out that emptiness which had dwelled within.
“Aaah,” sighed the passengers before all fell quiet, witnesses to the eternal play of love.
“And I love you, Alex, so very deeply.”
A handkerchief was whisked out by Mrs O’Driscoll, but even so another nudge hit Aideen’s ribs. “If you want anything else from him, say it now. ’Tis doubtful you’ll ever get another chance.”
Aideen ordered her tumbling thoughts.
“Charlie, you nodcock, the line!” yelled the captain, and they all turned, mouths agape as the rope slipped away into the depths, a red-cheeked lad biting his lip.
“M’peepers were on the goings-on,” he bewailed, as the breeze caught a half-unfurled sail and the boat lurched.
Rakecombe pivoted to the harbour gang but the gap between quay and boat grew.
“I’m sorry, Ya Grace,” declared the captain. “Boat’s turning with the tide.”
“Nooo,” Aideen wailed, leaning over the bow rail, arms flung out, Mrs O’Driscoll keeping a firm hand on her red skirts.
Another rope was thrown from the quay but the beleaguered lad fumbled, and it fell listlessly into the harbour depths.
Rakecombe wrenched off his cloak, and shoving that and his cane at the chestnut-haired man, he then strode away. Aideen’s heart plunged, her eyes sliding to the ever-widening breach of blue that separated them.
“Lord have mercy!” gasped Mrs O’Driscoll, and Aideen raised her head in time to see her husband charging full pelt along the quay towards the dawdling stern of the packet boat.
Her pulse thundered to his steps as he gained speed and threw himself from the edge, a slender black figure lunging through the air, fingers outstretched and face determined.
Shocked gasps and stuttering applause broke out even before the passengers knew the outcome.
