The Duke's Daughter -Wattys2014 Collector's Dream Award Winner-

Chapter Eight

The sun was setting upon the water, the clouds in the sky were fading from their light pinks and oranges, to purples and reds. The colorful sky reflected off the calm, slowly swelling sea, and the effect was majestic. But nature's lovely close to the day was all but lost upon Derek.

He stood at the helm, gently guiding the ship through the glittering swells, his mind was many miles away. In fact, his mind had wandered back in time, back to when he was a carefree bachelor, fresh out of the service, and ready to begin the next chapter of his life. And then he thought of her...

Of Jolene.

The sweet, shy girl he had fallen for, that had been assaulted and brutally murdered, before her prime. She had been lovely, with golden blonde hair that had reached past her waist, a slightly upturned nose, that had been adorable, crystal clear blue eyes, that had darted from him every time he looked her way.

He realized now that he had not loved her, not really, as he had barely known her. It had not been from a lack of effort on his part, though. It had been due to the fact that she had rarely said much of anything in his presence. She would blush prettily, agree with anything he said, and laugh at his jokes, but he had not been able to draw her out of her quiet and reserved shell.

It was still hard to grasp the fact that she had been taken from this world so ruthlessly. Such a pure spirit, never given the chance to test her wings. And it was Marcus Bailey's fault she was gone. Had Bailey left her alone, Derek would probably be in England now, married, and with a few children most likely. Ah, but he would have never met his angel, his Arianna.

A twinge of guilt hit him hard in his chest. How could he even think remotely positive about circumstances brought about by an innocent girl's murder? Derek felt the guilt at not having captured and killed Bailey yet, he realized. It had been eight long years that he had chased Bailey's trail, always two steps behind.

He felt guilty for having serious feelings for another woman, while the last woman he had cared about was not yet avenged. This was not happening the way he had planned. This being his life, his mission, his betrothal, even the destination of his ship was not as he had envisioned it the day before he rescued the Seahawk from the pirate attack.

Granted, he had thought about returning to England before he decided to head north, instead of north east, but had he done that, Arianna would have been lost to him before he had ever known her. He supposed this was all the hand of fate though, for how else could one explain his betrothed falling into his lap in the middle of the Atlantic?

As if to confirm his thoughts, the object of them stepped onto the deck from the hallway below. He watched her take in everything around her. The setting sky, the activity about the deck, and then finally, her eyes found him. She smiled and waved. He waved her over, and her smile grew, before she concealed it and complied.

"Good evening, milady. And how does your patient fare?" He greeted her, as she stepped up to the deck. Her eyes were shaded, dark circles hinted at her weariness, and the somber smile she gave him hinted that her maid had not improved.

"Betsy's fever has become more severe. She was delirious most of the afternoon. Her temperature rises and drops as quickly as the breeze flits by." She stopped and shook her head. "Shaw says it is still too soon to try and break the fever."

"Shaw is a very experienced healer, my dear. She has seen many men aboard this ship and abroad through worse injuries and fevers. More than that, she is blunt in her analysis. If she says your maid will recover, then trust that she will. She would surely tell you were that not the case."

"I suppose you are right, my lord. I am not an experienced healer and should not second guess one who is. I have spent most of today wishing I would not have brought her along."