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your return has sped his recovery. At any rate, since your
situation does involve risk, I would much prefer that you both
be under my roof, and my protection. Have you not both had
enough peril of late?"
"I I don't know how to thank you," he began.
"No need. You and David kept me from fainting dead away
when Captain Smith asked me if I would take Zoe as my wife.
His commanding manner is quite fearsome!"
Marshall laughed. "It is that. Thank you, m Kit."
"Good. That's settled, then. You shall have as much
privacy and as much time together as I can provide. This
way, if you please."
At the end of the walk lay a pleasant open garden, which
they crossed, and a two-story building with a tavern on the
lower floor. St. John signalled the barman, and turned to
Marshall as the man made his way across the room. "I see
someone here I must speak with privately, Will. Would you
allow Mr. Rumley to show you upstairs? Let him know if you
wish any refreshment."
Marshall nodded and asked the barman for a glass of
lemonade, which he had come to enjoy. He was shown
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upstairs, to a small sitting room lightly furnished with a rattan
settee and a chair with a footstool. A small table stood beside
the chair, so he chose that, and propped his feet up. It was
cooler here, with a breeze blowing in through the floor-length
window; he closed his eyes. It still felt strange to be on an
unmoving floor instead of the gently rolling deck of Palometa,
but weariness bore him off to sleep.
A moment later there was someone standing beside him,
holding a tray with his drink, and two empty glasses, and a
bottle of wine. Something Kit had ordered, no doubt. "Thank
you," he said, indicating the little table.
"Very good, sir," the potman said in an Irish lilt. He set the
tray down, turned the glasses rightside-up, and proceeded to
open the bottle. "Was there anythin' else you'd be wantin,'
sir?"
Marshall glanced up, wondering why he rated such
attentive service. Dark hair, blue spectacles, a short dark
beard and then the waiter grinned, and Marshall blinked,
bounding to his feet. "You you can't Davy?"
Still grinning, the waiter took off the blue spectacles, and
was suddenly and recognizably David Archer, despite the
alterations. "In the flesh. Slightly reduced flesh, I'm afraid, I
could not eat much for a while."
That was what was different, more than the coloring.
Davy's build was normally sturdy and compact, but he was
thinner now, almost fragile. Even as Will's hands went out to
touch him, he found himself holding back.
Davy's brows drew together at his hesitation. "What is it,
the beard? I know it must be a change, I can "
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"No, it's yes, it is a change, I " He was horrified to find
tears starting in his eyes. For nearly two months he had not
allowed himself to feel so much. The mere sight of his love
had undone him.
"It's only hair, Will, I can shave the damned thing off."
"No, it's " He could not speak; he could not think. He
kicked the footstool out of the way and caught Davy in his
arms carefully! as the tears poured out of him. It made no
sense, but he could not stop. "Sorry. I am I am so very
happy to see you!"
What was wrong with him? Had it been those weeks at
sea, pretending to almost everyone aboard that he was in
deepest mourning? He had lived the role. He had lost Davy,
lost him from his ship and his life and his arms. It had almost
been easier to consider him dead, and utterly out of reach.
That was a possibility they had always lived with. And sick as
Davy had been, so fearfully wounded, the hope for this
reunion was always very small.
But here he was, warm and alive. However he looked, he
smelled like himself, and as usual he was the eager one,
reaching to bring Will's face down for a kiss.
The beard was startling.
And exciting. The touch of that sweet, moist mouth
surrounded by a soft hedge of whiskers was such a strange
sensation. Strange, but familiar and the rest of Will's body
began to awaken from its long suspension of feeling. He
brought up a hand, cradling Davy's face while they became
reacquainted, and was half-grateful for the beard's
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concealment as he realized how sharply Davy's bones defined
his features beneath it.
He drew back a bit. "Are you well?"
"Well enough for this!" And further questions were
postponed momentarily. Davy's hands traveled down his
back, kneaded his arse, pulling him close as Will returned the
attentions wholeheartedly. "God, Will, for a time I feared we'd
never "
"I know." As Davy's head lifted from his shoulder he
studied the clear blue eyes. "Davy, we had better not not
here. Anyone could walk in "
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