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Back Sea of Ruin
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Copyright
  3. Author's Note
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. Other Books by Pam Godwin
  63. About Pam Godwin
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More than that, I missed my pirate hunter.

Was he visiting his betrothed during his time in London? Courting her while he kept his dirty secret hidden away in his coastal estate? Those thoughts chased me relentlessly. The only way I found I could outrun them was through endless, rigorous exercise.

Priest trailed me through the corridors of the manor for two weeks, huffing and seething and scolding me for pushing too hard. Perhaps that was an advantage of being deaf. I didn’t have to listen to his ribald speech.

My body was healing, slowly coming back to life. I sensed it when Priest kissed me, when the heat of his rock-hard physique pressed against me, making me ache for him.

Every night, I slept in the security of his arms, his chest against my back, the nude length of him steeling along the nude length of me. Skin to skin, hips together, with his swollen hardness trapped between us, it was heaven and torture.

I wanted him deeply and basked in his affectionate kisses. But, for the first time since we met, I had the strength of will to refuse him when he pressed for more. I wouldn’t betray Ashley, and Priest wouldn’t discuss their history. He was hiding something.

Until I understood their past and our future, I put the present on hold.

It wasn’t difficult. By the time I collapsed into bed each night, I’d exerted every ounce of strength I had into rebuilding my body. I had nothing left to give a passionate coupling.

One night, three weeks after my arrival in England, I stumbled into bed beneath the weight of such heavy exhaustion my muscles throbbed. My head pounded, and my ears buzzed with the need for sleep.

No, my ears were ringing.

The noise threaded through the thumping pressure in my skull. As I drifted to sleep in Priest’s arms, I decided the sensation was just the overworked pulsations of my heart.

Until I woke to the sound of voices.

50

“Rot in hell, you pompous cunt!” Priest roared so loudly I felt it rattle the rafters.

Not only that, I heard it.

In my ears.

His Welsh accent penetrated with clarity, volume, and unbridled rage.

Stunned, I lay motionless on the bed, unable to believe the sounds coming at me. The beat of my heart, the rush of my breaths, the tread of pacing footsteps…

And the elegance of Ashley’s aristocratic voice. “Your anger with me is misplaced.”

Blanketed in shadows, I pushed up on my elbows and waited to see if they noticed me stirring.

Across the room, Ashley leaned a shoulder against the fireplace mantle, hands clasped behind him, head lowered, and blue eyes fixed on Priest. He’d traded his seafaring frock for a somber black coat. Lace at the cuffs and collar matched the white waistcoat and breeches.