Free The Black Morass (Pirates of the Coast Book 1) by Barbara Devlin Page B

her belongings.”
    “Aye, Cap’n.”  The first mate dipped his chin.
    “During a trip to the American Carolinas, I happened upon a ship in distress, aboard which a young woman clung to the stern rail.”  Jean Marc recalled her history.  “She claims her father resides in Port Royal.  His name is Lord Nigel Davies, earl of Livingston.”
    “If you will prepare your mainsail hull, you may transfer the lady into our custody, and we will deliver her to Lord Livingston.”  The soldier barked orders to his men, and Jean Marc did the same.
    At the waist, he met Maddie for the last time.
    It was in those few minutes that he realized it would not be so easy to let go as he presumed.  But when she appeared, garbed in another of her modest gowns, with a matching bonnet trimmed in lace, his knees buckled.
    “Oh, Jean Marc, I am so excited, and you have made me inexpressibly happy.”  Bouncing on her toes, she favored him with a shimmering smile.  “And I just know my father will adore you, as do I.”  Grasping his wrist, she dragged him to the plank.  “We must hurry, as I want to begin the next chapter in our life, as a couple.”  She smoothed her skirts and fidgeted with her gloves.  “Do you think we can marry by the end of the week, as I long to be your wife?  And would you prefer a wedding on the beach, with your crew in attendance, or something small and private?”
    “Maddie, wait.”  He drew her to a halt.  “I must speak with you.”
    “Silly man, whatever it is, can you not discuss it with me after we arrive at the plantation, as I am uncontrollably exhilarated at the prospect of introducing you to my father?”  When she met his stare, her enthusiasm waned.  “For goodness sake, Jean Marc, you look as though you just lost your best friend.  What is wrong?”
    “I must bid farewell, Mon Chou .”  Inside him, something fractured.
    “What?”  Furrowing her brow, she retreated a step, and her glorious glow dimmed.  Then her expression sobered, and he braced for dramatics.  Instead, she compressed her lips, stretched tall, and lifted her chin.  “You never intended to marry me.”
    It was a statement, not a question.
    “No.”  And it killed him to admit it.  “Yet you should not grieve for what might have been, as we had fun, you and I.”
    “Fun?”  She swallowed hard.  “But I love you.”
    “More’s the pity, as I never asked for your heart, Maddie.”  That was supposed to have been his victorious triumph, the moment of her ultimate downfall.  She would cry, stomp her feet, pummel him with righteous indignation, and he would reclaim the marauder of old, the barbarian the British gelded would survive to ravage another innocent and prove he still controlled his destiny.  Instead, an invisible but nonetheless potent grip clutched his throat and threatened to choke him.  “Your dream is just that, a fantasy.  Were I a gentlemen, I should never have let you labor under the ridiculous belief, but you know exactly what I am, so there are no illusions.”
    “All right.”  Inhaling a shaky breath, she extended her hand, as would a gentleman, despite her crestfallen appearance.  “If that is all it was to you, then that is all it was to me.  Goodbye, Jean Marc.  I wish you well.”
    And so his grand conquest died in the flames and rubble, bested by the quiet strength and unimpeachable honor of a gentle society miss who preferred lace-collared frocks to breeches.
    As he stood at the starboard rail, she exchanged bits of conversation with various members of the crew, all of whom doffed their hats, and paused to kiss Tyne on the cheek.  With the grace and elegance that pervaded her every gesture, she turned and addressed the men, as a whole.
    “Thank you, for saving my life.  I owe you a debt I can never repay.”  Then she pinned Jean Marc with a steely glare.  “And I will never forget you.”
    And then Maddie was gone.
    The ensuing hole in his world, marked by