Dunham

Chapter 39

39

"There is no way in hell I'll wed that woman," Elliott snarled at his brother as he stormed into his library after having divested himself of that ridiculous costume.

"That bad?"

"Helpless. Soulless." He ran his hands through his hair—his own blessed hair—and began to pace.

Niall winced. "But now you know how to find Georgina—"

"Absolutely not. Firstly, she is fifteen and I am three times larger and almost that much older. Secondly, her first impression of me is of a bloody, naked savage fucking her captain face-first up against the bulkhead to hell and gone."

Niall pursed his lips. "Such an image would be a tad difficult to overcome, I'll grant you that."

"Thirdly, she's fucking the bo'sun's mate and I'll not raise that child's by-blow."

"Child?"

"Well. No one knows, really, but the boy's no stranger to copulation in any form."

"Oh, so what. Marry Georgina, tuck her away for a couple of years while she does her duty, and then send her about her business. Nobody has to know."

Elliott's teeth ground. "I cannot—will not—tup a fifteen-year-old, especially one who's had a taste of freedom, a gentle boy 'twixt her legs, and fancies herself in love with the aforementioned gentle boy."

"You don't know that."

He leveled Niall with a look. "Kit's cabin is next to Fury's, and Fury thought them charming. The girl was nigh floating around the Thunderstorm."

"Oh. That is untimely."

Elliott strode to the door and bellowed, "Lynch! Get me some of that Italian wine!"

"Aye, Cap'n," came the faint response from somewhere in the house.

Elliott stalked to a chair, threw himself into it, and dropped his head back. Camille chose that moment to breeze through the doorway, a dreamy smile on her face.

"Oh, Lord," Elliott moaned. "You're in love."

Her dreamy expression shattered into a moue of disgust. "Elliott, you hideous troll."

"I told you," Niall said calmly and sipped at his whisky.

"No, I am not in love. I am thoroughly over the moon at how well our little masquerade turned off."

"Oh," Elliott said with great disgust. "That."

"Eli, you were splendid. No one suspected a thing, although I did fear your heroism on Miss Imbecile's behalf might give you away, but no. Your tailor is an artiste."

"Heroism?" Niall asked. "And I presume the 'Miss Imbecile' in question is Celia Bancroft?"

"She took one look at me and pretended to swoon," Elliott reported, though he did not know whether to be happy or angry. "I caught her."

"Pretended?" Niall and Camille asked simultaneously.

"You did not tell me that," Milly said.

"Would an imbecile pretend to swoon at a strategic moment?" Niall mused.

Elliott shrugged. "Even imbeciles have some instinct for self-preservation. Likely 'tis a delaying tactic she used during her captivity and more a habit than anything else. She is perfectly at ease with Covarrubias and he seems to genuinely care about her welfare. It surprises me, actually."