Bastien knew that voice. “I’ve been looking for you,
looking for Captain Cutlass.”
Bastien had a thousand questions. He wanted to ask
about his twin, their mother, his father, his nephew,
this Sarah, how long Julien had been searching for
him, how he had known Bastien survived, how
Julien survived…
Instead, he said, “I think most of the soldiers in
London are searching for Captain Cutlass. Raeven and
I just escaped those transporting me to Newgate.”
He reached for Raeven and noted, again, she stood
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behind him, off by herself. She seemed to want to
shrink away, to avoid notice. He took her wrist and
pulled her forward. “This is Raeven Russell, daughter
of Admiral Russell. She aided my escape, and I
imagine her father has noticed her absence by now.”
“That doesn’t give us much time to reminisce. I
take it the navy may be after you, as well?”
Bastien shrugged. “I’m a popular man at the moment.”
Julien laughed. “If that’s another way of saying
you’re in trouble—again—my answer is this seems like
old times. And, once again, dear brother, I am going
to come to your aid.”
Bastien bristled, just as he had as a child. “I can
handle myself. I only stopped to say hello before making
my escape.”
“Oh!” The duchesse gripped his arm. “But you
can’t leave now. You haven’t even seen your mother.”
Lord Astley, who had been standing quietly near
the bookshelves, stepped forward. “I’ll fetch her. I
think it best if I inform the servants we might have
military company. If the soldiers knock on my door,
Valére, you can be assured we’ll do everything we can
to stall them.”
“Thank you,” Julien said. When Astley was gone,
Julien gestured to the couch and chairs clustered on one
side of the room. “Now, quickly, tell me everything.”
Bastien led Raeven to a chair before taking one
himself. “It’s not an easy matter to fix. You won’t be
able to snap your fingers and right the wrong.”
Julien sat on the couch across from him and
smiled. “These days, I have more than fingers to
snap. Start talking.”
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Shana Galen
So Bastien did, and for the first time since Maine’s
betrayal, he had someone at his back again. He was
not on his own. Bastien could handle himself, but he
couldn’t stop the smile that rose to his lips when he
thought of his older brother looking out for him again.
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Nineteen
Everything happened in a whirlwind. One moment
Raeven was at some lord’s ball, and the next she
was ferried back to Berkeley Square in a carriage so
sumptuous she was afraid to sit on the squabs, lest she
dirty them.
She had argued now that Bastien was back with
his family, she should return to the Regal, but Bastien
wouldn’t allow it. She thought Julien might have
agreed her return to the Regal was best, but he didn’t
protest when Bastien told her no. And so she found
herself in the lavish carriage with the dowager and the
duchesse de Valére.
Before she and Bastien had parted, Raeven had
witnessed the reunion between mother and son. The
dowager had rushed into Lord Astley’s library and
practically mowed Bastien over with the enthusiasm
of her embrace. It was difficult to believe the stately
woman seated across from her now was the same
woman who’d cried and babbled and hugged Bastien
until he must have felt more loved and adored than
any other man on earth.
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Shana Galen
The reunion had made Raeven cry, had made her ache
for her own mother, the mother she had never known.
mother. They looked back. Both women were kind,
but Raeven knew they didn’t quite know what to
think if her—the tart their precious Bastien had
thrust upon them. They hadn’t called her a tart, and
perhaps they hadn’t even thought of her that way in
their minds, but she felt like unwanted rubbish. She
wanted to go home, go back to the Regal. She didn’t
want to wait for Bastien to dismiss her. Didn’t want
to be humiliated.
“We shall send word to Armand and Felicity imme-
diately,” the dowager was saying as the carriage turned
another corner. “Armand will want to see his brother.”
It seemed she was expected to make some response,
so Raeven said, “Naturally.”
Silence. She cleared her throat.
“Ah, and who is Felicity?”
“She’s the comtesse, Armand’s wife. They’ve been
married only a year.”
“I see.” Raeven could see the questions forming in
the ladies’ minds. Would Raeven be the next… what
was the wife of a marquis called? She didn’t know,
but that’s what they were wondering. Would she be
Bastien’s wife, or was she just a temporary diversion?
She was saved from the subject when the carriage
slowed and the footmen opened the doors. Once
again, she looked up at the beautiful town house, and
once again, she was met by the butler, Grimsby, at the
door. If he was surprised to see her again, he didn’t
show it.
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It seemed to Raeven half the staff was awake to
greet the duchesse and Bastien’s mother, though it was
practically the middle of the night.
“Mrs. Eggers.” The dowager gestured to an older
lady who immediately stepped forward. “We have
two guests with us. My son Sébastien is on his way
home, and this is Miss Russell.” The housekeeper’s
gaze flicked to Raeven and then back to her employer.
Raeven wondered what the staff thought of her.
Wondered if she looked as much like a street urchin
as she felt she did. The dowager continued, “We will
need… two rooms prepared.”
Raeven felt her face heat, knowing the dowager had
probably guessed her relationship with Bastien was more
than merely friendly. But it would have been unthink-
able for them to share a room when not married.
The dowager was giving more instructions as to
which rooms, how they should be prepared, and the
possible arrival of Bastien’s brother Armand and his
family, but Raeven was not listening. She wished she
had waited and returned with Bastien and his brother
Julien. He had urged her to go on without him so she
could rest, but she didn�
��t feel tired. She felt unsure
and uncertain and wished she were back in her cabin
on the Regal.
“Miss Russell.” The dowager took her arm and led
her into a small parlor. It was feminine and inviting,
with pastel paintings, moldings on the walls and ceil-
ings, and dainty chairs upholstered in pink and white
silk. It also faced the street, and Raeven found herself
staring out into the square, hoping Bastien would
arrive soon.
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Shana Galen
“You needn’t worry about him,” the dowager said,
sitting delicately in one of the chairs. She wore an
amber silk gown that swirled about her like honey. To
Raeven’s eyes, she looked too young to be the mother
of men like Bastien and Julien, but then what did she
know of mothers? “Julien will take good care of him.
Julien takes good care of us all.” She glanced at the
duchesse, who was standing in the parlor’s doorway.
“Go ahead and check on little Etienne, Sarah. You
won’t feel easy until you do.”
The duchesse smiled, and Raeven realized Etienne
must be her son. “I’ll be back down in a moment.”
The dowager waved a hand. “Go to bed. I shall
make certain Miss Russell is settled.”
The duchesse, who looked tired, nodded. “I’ll see
you at breakfast, Miss Russell. It was a pleasure to
meet you. And thank you.”
Raeven frowned. “Thank you?”
“For bringing Bastien home. You don’t know how
much this means to Julien. He’s never stopped looking
for him, never given up hope. Now his family is
complete again.” She looked at the dowager, a sadness
flickering in her eyes. “Or almost. Good night.”
When she was gone, silence, except for the crack-
ling of wood in the fire, filled the parlor. Raeven
stared out the window again, and when she turned
back to the dowager, the older woman’s gaze was far,
far away. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and
distant. “I never believed.” There was anguish in her
tone. “It was easier for me, I suppose, to believe the
twins dead. The idea of them being alive somewhere
without me—” Her voice broke.
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Raeven felt tears sting her eyes, and she went to
the woman, knelt before her. “There was nothing
you could have done. Bastien told me the story of his
escape. He thought you perished.”
The dowager shook her head, and a single tear escaped
down her cheek. “All those years alone.” She looked at
Raeven. “But then he wasn’t alone. He had you.”
Raeven swallowed. She hadn’t exactly comforted
Bastien. In the short time she’d known him, she’d
tried to kill him numerous times, seen him shot,
betrayed, and imprisoned. “W-we haven’t known
each other very long,” Raeven said.
“Really? Bastien said you’d met last summer.”
When had he said that? Raeven stood. “Yes, well.
It was a brief meeting initially.” She’d tried to carve
him open in that tavern in Brest. “We met again a
month or so ago in Gibraltar.”
The dowager smiled. “And you brought him home.”
“Actually, my father did. I don’t know if you
understood, Your Grace, but Bastien is under arrest
for piracy. The navy would like nothing better than to
see him hanged for his crimes.”
The dowager waved a hand. “Julien will fix that.”
Raeven shook her head. “I don’t see how.”
“You will.” The dowager leaned back and assessed
her. Raeven shifted from foot to foot and wished she
had taken one of the chairs. “You love him.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Bastien. You love him. You are an admiral’s
daughter, and yet you risked your own life and
freedom to help my son. Why would you do such a
thing unless you loved him?”
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Shana Galen
“It doesn’t matter,” Raeven blurted. The dowager
raised her brows, but Raeven couldn’t seem to stop
talking. “He doesn’t love me back—or at least he
hasn’t said as much. He did say he wanted to marry
me, but that was… before.” She gestured to the
delicate parlor. “And even if he wants me now, it
will never work.”
“Why?” the dowager asked quietly.
“We’re from two different worlds. I belong with
my father on the Regal. He needs me. I’m all he has.”
“And yet earlier it sounded as though you consid-
ered my son’s proposal of marriage.”
Raeven opened her mouth, closed it again. “It
wasn’t exactly a proposal.”
The dowager lifted her brows.
“That was before,” Raeven tried to explain.
“Now.” Again she gestured helplessly to the room, to
the dowager, sitting there looking so stately. “I don’t
belong here, in this world.”
“You belonged with the pirate, not the nobleman.”
“Yes—no. I—I don’t know. I don’t know that we
ever belonged together. I—”
The housekeeper opened the door. “I’m sorry to
interrupt. Miss Russell’s room is ready. Shall I show
her up?”
The dowager looked at Raeven, and she glanced
out the window one last time. Still no sign of Bastien.
“Yes, please.” Suddenly, she was tired. So tired.
Bastien came to her in the night. She’d known he
would. She did not know how he would know which
room, but she knew he would find her.
She was dozing when he slipped into bed beside
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her, when his warm arms came around her and he
pulled her against his nakedness. She was naked, as
well. She hadn’t bothered with the night rail the
maid she’d dismissed left on the bed. It was frilly and
delicate—everything she was not.
“Mmm,” Bastien murmured in her ear. “You’re
warm.” He kissed her neck. “Soft.” His hand cupped
one breast, but before he could go any farther, she
turned in his arms to face him.
“I was worried about you.”
He traced her cheek with one finger. “As you see,
I’m in your bed, safe and sound.”
“The soldiers?”
“My brother is dealing with them. Apparently, he’s
richer than the King. He’s going to buy the navy a
ship or three on the condition they forget all about
Captain Cutlass.”
“Will they accept?”
“They have little choice.” He pulled a lock of her
hair to his nose, sniffed. “Cherries. Captain Cutlass is
no more. There’s only Sébastien Harcourt.”
“Marquis de Valére.”
“Ma belle, you make it sound like a crime. It’s a title,
nothing more.”
How she wished that were true.
Suddenly, he lay back on the pillow, stared up at
the ceiling, and smiled. In the dim light from the fire,
she could see his face. He seemed so happy. “I never
dreamed of this. Never dreamed I’d be sleeping under
my brother’s roof. Never dreamed I’d see my mother
again.” He glanced at Raeven. “She looks the same.
She’s still beautiful.”
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Shana Galen
Raeven nodded. “She’s very beautiful.”
“And I have a nephew. They named him Etienne,
after my father. I’m an uncle.”
Her heart ached at his happiness. She was glad she
had been a part of it, however briefly.
“Armand and Felicity—that’s his wife—will come
tomorrow or the next day. Julien told me Armand
was imprisoned for years. I wish I’d known before.
I wish—”
She put a finger over his lips. “You can spend your
whole life regretting. You have them now. You have
me now.”
His hand curled in her hair again. “Yes, I do, don’t
I?” He pulled her mouth to his and kissed her. “And
what do you suggest I do with you?”
She shook her head, slid on top of him. “It’s what
I’m going to do with you this time.”
“Oh?” He groaned when her breasts rubbed his chest.
She leaned forward, captured his wrists and
anchored them to the pillow. She knew he could take
back control whenever he liked, but for the moment,
he seemed content to allow her to lead.
She lowered her mouth to his, touching his lips
lightly. She’d missed his lips; she would miss his lips.
She brushed hers softly against his, letting her tongue
dart out lightly. His fingers curled, and she nudged his
mouth open, kissing him more deeply.
He’d been drinking brandy. He tasted of it and of
the wild pirate she loved. Their tongues mated, and
she felt as though the world around them rocked. She
knew they were on solid land, but when she kissed
him, she could almost feel the swell of the sea. He
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smelled like the sea, like the salty ocean, the clean,
crisp air.
She felt his arms tense and strain, knew when he
realized he was still pinned to the bed. Knew when
he accepted it and stilled. She broke the kiss, bent to