Free Midnight Mistress by Ruth Owen Page B

twitched. “Not bloody likely.”
    “Ah, I am glad to see that you have some wits left. Hold on to them, English. You will have need them tomorrow, when you tell the Admiral how you managed to ruin a chance at scaling Whitehall. The girl is sure to turn her guardian against us—”
    “She’ll say nothing.”
    Raoul shook his head. “It is a woman we are speaking of, my friend. What any of them do is a mystery, even to the far more intelligent men of my country.”
    Connor stared into his mug, but it wasn’t the murky ale he saw, but a long-ago moonlit night. His grim mouth gentled with a smile. “Have you ever been in love?”
    The Frenchman stroked his mustache. “But of course.Only last month there was that
très magnifique
tavern wench in Gibraltar who—”
    “Not
that
kind of love. I mean the kind the poets write about—when your life is consumed by wanting one woman. When you live for her smile. When you die when she cries. You would do anything, be anyone, risk everything to keep her safe. And you would give up your soul just to hear her say, one more time, drat she loves you.”
    Raoul stopped stroking his mustache. He stared at his friend for a long while, then shook his head. “No, I have never been in love like that. I do not think I should want to be.”
    “You won’t. But when it happens, you won’t have a choice. Hell, you won’t even know what hit you. The first time I saw Juliana …”. Connor gripped his mug and downed the rest of the sour-tasting liquor in a single gulp. “I was an idiot, a boy in love with a dream. Now she has only contempt for me. But she won’t talk—pride alone will keep her from admitting that she was bested by an inferior. She’ll go back to her balls and parties, and forget she ever met me again.”
    Raoul raised an eyebrow. “And you,
mon ami
? Can you forget her so easily?”
    “Think I can’t? Ha!” Connor pushed his chair back, feeling a pleasant, fuzzy confidence begin to glow inside him. “I’ll forget her before first light—see if I don’t. There’s plenty of women in the sea. Blondes. Brunettes. No redheads. All willing and winsome. Not spoiled. Not stuck-up. Can have my pick. Can have—”
    He stood up and the world began to wobble. “Maybe I shouldn’t have had that last drink.”
    “I warned you,” Raoul said as he placed a steadying hand on his arm. “
Mon Dieu
, your head will ache like the devil tomorrow.”
    Tomorrow? What about now? His temples pounded like the stone under a mason’s hammer. But better his heart thanhis head. Not that his heart ached. Not over her. Plenty of other women in the world—including the well-endowed barmaid who gave him a wink as Raoul helped him to the door. Cheered, he grinned at his friend. “She fancies me. And she’s blond. Told ya—can have my pick. Already forgot the other one. Already forgot Juliana’s name. Let her have her parties. Let her marry one of those pompous asses. Don’t care. Wasted half my life protecting her. Not anymore. She’s on her own from now on. She’s—”
    The bell sounded. Everyone in the room went still as the tavern keeper cleared his throat and called out the name of the wrecked ship. “The
Lady Anne
, out of Kingstown bound for Southampton. All hands lost.”
    “Poor devils,” Raoul muttered, crossing himself. He looked at Connor’s face and saw that it was alabaster white. “My friend, a shipwreck is a terrible thing, but the crew is past our help. Indeed, we have problems of our own. The Admiral—”
    “To hell with the Admiral,” Connor growled, suddenly sober. “That ship was Albany’s. God in heaven, it belonged to Juliana’s father!”

It was a bonny winter day, with the sun glancing off the new blanket of snow like a thousand diamonds. Chickadees lighted on the sill outside the windows where Juliana sat, chirping merrily, leaving tiny, bold footprints in the untouched snow. On another day, Juliana would have been delighted by their antics,