“She’s well.”
Gideon smirked. “So talkative. Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps a saucy young lass with legs for days and a smile that could fell a man.”
“Sod off, Gideon.”
His quartermaster laughed heartily, though the amusement was only on his end. They drank in blessedly pleasant silence for a while. Rhystan was grateful Gideon hadn’t pressed on the matter with Sarani. He could not spare her a single thought without hearing her soft moans, without recalling the sweet slick of her arousal on his fingers and itching to experience it again. If Gideon guessed how much she affected him, he’d never let him forget it. Rhystan drained his glass and ordered another round.
“Thirsty?” Gideon sent him a knowing look, and Rhystan shot him a crude gesture. The bastard only laughed, sliding over a ledger. “Business, then. One of the ships is due to head back to China on the tea route. The other is bound for Italy. Once the Belonging is ready, I’ll begin preparing to leave for the West Indies in a few weeks.” He eyed Rhystan. “Were you planning to be on any of those?”
The crew were getting restless, and now that two more of his fleet had put into port and unloaded their cargo, they were ready to head out to sea once more. Rhystan was more than ready to head out with them, but something held him back.
Not something…someone.
He studied the logs that Gideon had pushed across the table. They noted the recent custom duties for the three ships that had arrived as well as the names and voyages of his few dozen other ships currently at sea and in other ports. He couldn’t see wrapping up his finances here anytime soon, and there was still the matter of seeing Ravenna settled. A few weeks should be more than enough time.
“Antigua. I need to see Chase.” Courtland Chase had accomplished what many men hadn’t—a life in the colonies that actually helped the locals. “The people who work for him have their own lands and businesses. I want to replicate that elsewhere.”
“You already have,” Gideon said loyally. “Those on your former lands are thriving and buying from the locals directly makes a difference.”
“There’s always room to do more.”
Gideon nodded. “What about the princess?”
“If all goes as planned and there is no confirmed threat to her safety, the lady will be happily ensconced in a Cornish village somewhere, living the life she wants.”
“And you?”
Rhystan frowned, well acquainted with his quartermaster’s snide tone. “And me what?”
“What about you? Will you be living your best life when you leave the only woman you ever cared about behind?”
With a burst of annoyance, Rhystan slammed his tankard down, drawing stares from men at neighboring tables. Gideon did not so much as flinch, only raising a sardonic brow at the uncharacteristic display of temper. “It’s what she wants. It’s what we agreed.”
“Agreements change.”
“I am not in need of a wife,” Rhystan snapped. “Least of all her.”
“She’s your match, Captain.”
“You know who she is to me, Gideon. Those were the darkest days of my life.”
Gideon studied him and then downed the rest of his ale with a quiet nod. “Aye. They were. I pulled you out of that opium house where you were slowly attempting to obliterate yourself. But it was not only because of her. You had many other demons you were trying to drown, your father being the worst of them.” His voice gentled. “And let’s be honest here. You didn’t exactly fight for her either.”
Rhystan crashed his fist into the table, nostrils flaring with fury as he leaped to his feet ready to send his friend to the floor. Anger that he’d kept buried for years burned through his veins like acid. “I was in hell, you bastard!”
“And you chose to put yourself there.” In the next breath, all Rhystan’s fury died, and all he could do was stare at the ever-calm Gideon, who had not batted an eyelash. “I gave you an out, and you took it. At any point after you sobered up, you could have gone back to Joor.”
“She was already married,” he muttered.
No, she hadn’t been. He’d only thought she’d married. Markham had lied, which Rhystan would have discovered if he had gone back for her. The truth hit him like a kick to the gut. Gideon was right. He could have gone back to Joor. He could have spoken to her, used his fucking name for something worthwhile. Done something, anything. He was only responsible for his own actions, and he’d chosen to do nothing.
“You’re right,” he said, sitting heavily. “Even so, I can’t marry her.”
“Why not?”
“This is London, Gideon. If the truth came out about who she is, it would most likely have an effect on Ravenna’s chances of making the best possible match, simply by association. You know how narrow-minded the ton can be. The gossip will be interminable.”
Gideon stared at him, and from the growing scowl on his face, Rhystan had the feeling that he’d just gone down a few pegs—a few dozen pegs—in his friend’s estimation. “Since when does the captain I know care about gossip or polite society?”
“Since he became duke.”
“That’s never been you, lad. The man I know would never let a person’s circumstances determine the sum of their worth.” He stood and tossed a few coins down onto the wood. “Whoever that duke is isn’t worth a scrap of the man you were. Don’t lose sight of him, my friend, or you will truly have become your father.”
* * *
After dinner at home, Asha’s low notes on the shehnai soothed Sarani’s soul. Ravenna, too, if her transported expression was any indication.
“I’ve never heard anything so hauntingly beautiful in my life. You’re very good at that, Asha,” she said, clapping with enthusiasm as the maid wrapped up a piece in the music room. “Would you teach me sometime?”
Asha glanced at Sarani, but it was up to her. Sarani gave a tiny shrug and a smile. “It would be my honor, Lady Ravenna. Here, why don’t you hold it? Familiarize yourself with the feel of the wood and each sound.”
Watching them, their heads bent together—one dark and the other auburn, so dissimilar in looks yet so unequivocally united in their love of music—Sarani couldn’t help smiling. Though she missed Joor on occasion, London was starting to grow on her. And it was all because of Ravenna. She’d never had a sister, and Ravenna had turned out to be nothing like she’d expected.
The girl was unlike any of the other English debutantes she’d met. Ravenna had laughed when Sarani had told her that and said that she hadn’t met anyone besides Penelope—arguably the worst of the bunch. The blond-haired girl who had seemed excited about the Indian princes was one of Ravenna’s best friends, Lady Clara.