The Wayward One Quotes

“Captain O’ Devir… I did not hear you come in.” He put the plate down on the table in front of her and moved away, not wanting her to know he’d been gazing wistfully down at her, admiring her beauty, softening—a dangerous thing, that—as he thought of her family. Instantly, he made his tone gruff. Irritable. “Aye, ye’d not have heard me, because I’d a mind to keep quiet. Here. I brought ye breakfast. Caught and cooked it meself, just as I promised.” She looked up at him, blinking. And then she smiled, a true and radiant thing that lit him up from the inside out, and Ruaidri felt everything inside of him melt. He turned away, quickly, before she could see that that smile had completely undone him.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“We were never introduced, ye know. I’m Mrs. Lord’s brother. You can call me Ruaidri.” “I’m not calling you anything, I’m leaving.” “And what is your name, Sunshine? Ye’re his sister, aren’t ye?” “Yes, I’m his sister, and there is no need for you to know my name, no need for you to be asking me all these questions and trying to detain me, no need for me to stay here when I must go.” He grinned, wickedly. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” “Tell what?” “Yer brother, if you let me steal a kiss.” She gasped, coloring hotly. “You—you are a rogue and a scoundrel to even suggest such a thing!” “I may indeed be a rogue and a scoundrel but if I am, it’s not for wantin’ a kiss from a pretty lass.” He straightened up from the window, his strong, perfect teeth very white in the glint of moonlight. “Oblige me?” “No!” “I’m bettin’ it’ll be far more explosive than what’s about to transpire down there in the garden. Come here, Sunshine. I’ve a mind to see if those lips of yers were made for kissin’.” Nerissa’s mouth fell open. Her face went white, then flooded with color, and she was so shocked she could not even take another step backward. Seeing it, the Irishman laughed and made a little dismissive gesture with his hand. “Ah, don’t mind me, lass. I’m just messin’ about with ye. I’d never hurt ye, not in a million years. I’m perfectly harmless.” “You—you don’t look harmless.” “No?” He arched a brow, his gaze dropping pointedly to her bosom, the nip of her waist and the flare of her hips with undisguised interest. “How do I look?” Dangerous. Virile. Predatory. Fascinating. “I can’t answer that.” “Not scared of me now, are ye?” “After what you just said to me? No, I am not scared. What I am, sir, is offended. Outraged.” “I paid ye a complement and ye’re offended? Outraged? Saint’s alive, what would your reaction be if I paid ye an insult?” “I can’t believe I’m standing here having this absurd conversation with you. You are rude and obnoxious and drunk, and I have already given you far more time and attention than you deserve. Good evening, sir.” He went back to looking down at the garden below, his gaze far more keen and watchful than his drunken state should allow. “’ Twould be a better one if ye came over here and let me give ye that kiss.” “Ohhh!” Incensed, she turned on her heel and hurried for the stairs, hearing his laughter ringing out behind her.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Why didn’t you tell me, Ruaidri?” He straightened up and looked off down the drive, toward the river. “Because I was scared, Nerissa. That’s why.” “Scared of what?” “Scared that ye’d leave me if ye knew the truth.” She looked down, tears filling her eyes, and fingered a knothole in the steps. “It hurts me that you didn’t trust in my love enough to confess something so important.” “I’m sorry, Nerissa. I made a complete hash of it.” “Yes, you did. My brother hurt me terribly with his actions. And now you, by your failure to confide in me… you have hurt me as well. At the moment, I don’t think I can trust anyone anymore.” “I’m still the same man I was before ye learned any of this.” “You may be the same man, but I’m not the same woman. An hour ago, I believed in you. You were my hero, my knight in shining armor. Now I’ve been wounded by two of the people I love most in this world. Both of you treated me as though I was something fragile, breakable, unable to handle the truth or even make my own decisions. Both of you have let me down.” She got to her feet. “I need to go rest.” “I’ll come with you. We’ll talk.” “No, Ruaidri. I wish to be alone. Go back to Tigershark. Get Jeffcote to stitch you up before you bleed to death all over again.” “Nerissa, please—” “Better yet, go take Andrew down to Adams and get it over with so that he can move on with his own life and get back to the woman he loves. I need time to think, to make sense of all that I’ve learned today, and the last two people I want to see right now are you and Lucien.” She got up, opened the door, and without a backward glance, went inside. The door shut with a hard, final thump and for Ruaidri, it was the most awful sound in the world.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Nerissa,” he called after the retreating pair. She turned and looked at him, her eyes wounded, the tears still wet upon her face. “It is bad enough that you would marry a man so far beneath you,” he said. “It is bad enough that you would marry a man that your family does not accept, a man for whom you have thrown away your birthright, heritage and country, a man who will never be able to keep you in the comfort and luxury in which you’ve been raised and to which you’ve been accustomed.” He waited for his words to sink in, and then he dropped the killing blow. “But for you to knowingly walk off with an accused killer, a man who murdered his very best friend….” Bang. He saw the fatal shot hit home as the blood drained from the Parasite’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nerissa said uncertainly, and tried to continue on. “Don’t you? Do you mean this vermin you’ve wed hasn’t told you?” Lucien’s smile was coldly triumphant. “Josiah Brown. A duel, 1776. You shot him, didn’t you, O’ Devir? Your very best friend in the world, and all over a woman you both purported to love.” The blows he’d dealt the Irishman during the fight were nothing compared to the damage his words now caused, and Lucien felt a dark and savage satisfaction as he watched stunned denial and fear, yes fear, steal the color from that rascal’s hated face. “Dolores Foley was the wench’s name, wasn’t it? And she’s dead now, too.” The Irishman looked as though he’d been stabbed through the heart with a knitting needle. “I didn’t kill her.” “Of course you didn’t,” Lucien said loftily, and gave a dramatic sigh. “You didn’t need to. But you did kill Brown, you were convicted and sentenced to hang, and it was only your friend John Adams’s brilliance that got you out of the noose in an appeal that should never have been made.” O’ Devir flushed with rage. “Ye know nothin’ of what happened.” “Oh, I know all of it. Have you told my sister about this particular little… tidbit of your past?” By the dawning horror in Nerissa’s face, he had not. “I think we’ve all heard enough,” Brendan said, nodding for his wife to join him as he took the duke by the elbow and tried to force him away. “Some things are over and done with, and that’s one of them.” “Ah, well… always best to know everything there is to know about a person before you marry them,” Lucien murmured. His smile was pitiless and cold. “You’re correct, Merrick. It is time to leave.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“I should have killed you when I had the chance.” “You did have the chance and you didn’t. Just as I had the chance, and didn’t. And ye know why I didn’t, Blackheath? Ye know why I held back during our fight? ’Twas because of yer sister and the fact I love her. Don’t think for a moment I couldn’t have ended yer life had I wanted to, but I wouldn’t give her that grief. She’s suffered enough.” “Big words from a beaten man,” Lucien said coldly. “Not so beaten. American jails are as capable of holding English dukes as they are British tars, soldiers and sea officers. Your gettin’ out of this hellhole will depend on my charity, along with my cousin’s. And the good people of this town, who don’t have a whole lot of use for lofty English ideas and an aristocracy who think they rule the world. Those days are over. Done with.” He offered his arm to Nerissa. “Good day, yer Grace. Perhaps when next we meet, yer way of announcin’ yerself will be a bit more… gentlemanly.” “You should have killed him when you had the chance,” Cooper murmured beneath his breath. “I tried.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Ever since I was a child you’ve treated me like a doll, protected and sheltered me, manipulated the events of my life to suit your own wishes, told me what I could have, what I could do, where I could go, whom I should marry. You wrecked my life with what you did to Perry, you robbed me of my chance for happiness with a man I loved, you ruined him and you nearly ruined me and I will not, I repeat, I will not, let you do the same to Ruaidri, do you understand me?” The duke brushed a bit of mud off his elbow. “He’s a dirty, grasping, Irish maggot, my dear. You can do better.” The lieutenant rubbed at his jaw. “Sure knows how to fight,” he lamented. “Enough,” Lucien said coldly. “You, Nerissa, are coming back to England with me. You, too,” he added, with a hard look at Lord Andrew “This marriage will be annulled.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“My patience, Nerissa, is nearing its end. Come with me, please.” “No.” “Nerissa, I will not ask again.” “Did you not hear a single word I just said?” she cried angrily. “I just told you to get out of my life, to leave me alone, to let me make my own choices, to respect them! I chose to marry Ruaidri, he didn’t force me, I married him because I love him!” “What?” “I said I love him, damn you!” Lucien just stood there blinking, his face a dreadful mask of shock, anger, and immeasurable pain. “And furthermore,” Nerissa said, her voice shaking with rage, “Don’t think for one moment you can talk me out of this, make me see reason, manipulate events to bend them to your will or convince me to go back to England. I don’t want to go back to England. I can’t go back to England—” “Yes, I know all about what you did, my dear, back on that ship. I can assure you, I can… fix things, so that your name is cleared—” “I don’t care if my name is cleared, I’m not going back. My home is here with my husband and my…” she put a hand on her still-flat belly, and the tears began to flow down her cheeks, “my baby.” “Christ,” Lucien swore.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“I love ye, Nerissa O’ Devir,” he murmured softly. “Ye’re the best thing that’s ever come into me life. ’Til the day I die, I’ll be thankin’ the good Lord and every saint in heaven for sendin’ ye to me.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“She was asleep before he even peeled the covers back and gently lowered her down to the sheets. She might protest that she was no china doll, but in some respects, Ruaidri mused, he would always treat her as one—worthy of the utmost care and protection. His care and protection. How he loved her. Loved her. His eyes filled with sudden, unexpected emotion as he looked down at her, sleeping. They were safe here in Newburyport, with a solid roof over their heads and the end of his mission in sight. A nice little town, this one, and his cousin was right. They already had friends and family here. It was as good if not better a place than any to settle down and begin their lives together.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Well, that was a first,” he murmured, his grin spreading. “But I quite enjoyed it. Took things to whole new heights, it did. Jay-zus. What are ye doin’ half-into yer breeches and lookin’ like the world’s just come to an end, Nerissa?” “What?” she howled, frozen. “I said, what the divil are ye doin’, lass?” “I was going to get help!” “For what?” “For you!” He roared with laughter. “I passed out. Felt good. Incredible, in fact. Never happened to me before… must be the loss of blood.” “I thought I’d killed you!” she nearly screamed, sobbing with relief. “And you’re lying there laughing about it!” “Best release I’ve ever had,” he said with a happy sigh. And then, noting her outrage and relief, he moved over on the cot and reached for her. “Get out of those damned breeches, Nerissa, and come join me.” “Come join you? You just scared the living daylights out of me.” “We’ll do it again soon,” he said. “And maybe you’ll get used to it. In the meantime, I’m knackered. And freezing-cold. Care to warm a body up, Sunshine?” He grinned over at her. When he looked at her like that, it was impossible to stay angry with him.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Nerissa.” Startled, her gaze flashed to his, found him quietly watching her. “Nerissa,” he repeated, looking up to her. “Why do ye cry? We don’t have to do this if ye aren’t ready… I’d never force ye, y’know.” The tears ran harder and again she saw the blood beneath his leg, mixed with seawater and rolling back and forth with the motion of the ship, and she could not speak. “I’m sorry I’m not the man ye might’ve chosen… sorry I’m just a sailor, sorry ye didn’t have the grand weddin’ ye deserved—” “I’m crying,” she choked out, “because I keep thinking of you lying in your own blood, and how I’d thought this heart I feel beneath my hand had stopped… and that you were dead.” His gaze softened. “Don’t think about it,” he said, reaching up to thumb away her tears. “I’m very much alive. Weak as a kitten, I’m afraid, but ’twill take far more than an English musketball to do me in.” She gave a jerky little nod without speaking, and his hand drifted down to anchor hers against his breastbone. Against his heart. For a long moment they just stayed like that, she trying to get her sobs under control, he quietly covering her hand with his own. “The best way to forget things we wish we’d never seen is to make new memories,” he said quietly. “We have our weddin’ night—or rather, afternoon—and the rest of our lives to make those memories.” He gazed up into her eyes, willing her to hear what he was saying, to forget the dreadful things that she had seen. “Now, love, since ye’re so concerned about my heart, lean down and kiss me again but keep your hand there, and feel it beat harder, feel it beat stronger… feel it beat just for you and you alone.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Andrew, don’t you have some place to be? Something else to do?” He actually had the good grace to blush. “I suppose you’d like some… privacy.” “I suppose we might,” she said, a touch of impatience in her voice. “You have protected me long enough, dear brother. But you have given me to Ruaidri here and that is now his task, not yours.” “At the moment, he’s not fit to protect a fly from a spider, let alone—” “I’m fine,” Ruaidri insisted, yet again. Nerissa sighed and crossed her arms. “And just what do I need protecting from, Andrew?” Andrew’s color deepened. “Right. I understand. I’ll… leave you two to it, then.” He moved to the door and there, paused to look one last time at Ruaidri. “Remember my warning, O’ Devir. Be gentle with her.” Ruaidri raised a brow. He supposed he ought to take offense at such a remark and a few short years ago when he’d been younger, his temper hotter and his moods more volatile, perhaps he would have. But Andrew was her brother, a family member who loved her very much, and having been in a similar situation with his own sister not so very long ago, Ruaidri knew just how hard it was to turn and walk away, leaving your little sister in the care of a man who was anything but a brother and who had every intention of making her a woman. Yes, he understood. He smiled. “Ye have my word on it, Andrew,” he said reassuringly. With a last warning glance at Tigershark’s captain, Lord Andrew left the cabin.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Anything else I should know about you, O’ Devir?” The Irishman’s eyes opened. “Lots.” He gave Andrew a level stare. Here, too, he did not back down or look away. “You interested in hearin’?” Andrew rubbed his jaw and thought about that for a long moment. “No,” he said finally. “No, I am not.” Still that steady gaze. “I’ve done terrible things.” “What you’ve done in the past does not concern me as much as what you’ll do in the future—and how you treat my little sister. I won’t plumb your secrets, especially as you seem quite willing to confess them.” “I killed a man.” O’ Devir was regarding him with flat challenge, daring him to take up this gauntlet. “I know all about it.” And at the Irishman’s raised brow, he added, “Lucien had you investigated.” “And he’d still see me wed to yer sister?” “I consider myself a damned good judge of character, O’ Devir, and I can sense enough about yours that the particulars of Mr. Brown’s unfortunate death are of little interest to me.” “I love your sister. And she might not be lovin’ me back if I were to tell her the particulars that ye’re not so eager to hear.” “You haven’t told her?” “Not yet. Things happened rather quicker than I expected, they did. I’ll tell her in good time.” He looked up at Andrew with eyes that were resolute. “I’d give my life for her, ye know, and consider it an honor doin’ it.” “I don’t doubt that.” “I won’t break her heart like that other ball of shite did.” “If you do, my brothers and I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and kill you.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Well,” said O’ Devir. “Tha’ ’twas easy.” “It won’t always be. Better start planning now how you’re going to handle her.” “I’d never presume to try and figure that out, Lord Andrew.” “Andrew. Just Andrew. If you’re going to wed her, we might as well dispense with formalities.” “What makes ye think I’m goin’ to wed her?” “Refuse, and I won’t let you leave this cabin alive.” “Ehm, right.” The other man, lips twitching, took a swallow of whiskey, then sat reflecting upon the contents of his glass. “And what about this eldest brother of yers? Will he give consent? I’m told I’d better keep my entrails in good condition as they’ll end up being his chosen instrument of my strangulation.” Andrew guffawed, choking and nearly spilling his drink. “I had a feeling she was only blaggardin’.” “No, she was not. Though Lucien will see to your dispatch in a much less messy way than strangling you with your own entrails.” “Pistols or swords?” “Both, probably.” O’ Devir sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to put up a fight for the sake of pride and appearances.” “I wouldn’t bother, as it will only prolong the inevitable outcome. My brother is one of the most dangerous men in England.” The Irishman lifted his glass and smiled. “Ah, but we are not in England, are we?” Andrew returned the salute. “Indeed, sir, we are not.” He had deliberately goaded, perhaps even insulted the man, trying to gauge the depth of his self-restraint. He was both satisfied and relieved that O’ Devir had not risen to the bait. His sister would be safe with a husband who could control his temper. He would certainly need that ability, married to one such as her. “Of course, I should kill you anyhow,” Andrew murmured, contemplating his own drink. “You abducted my little sister. You’ve probably had your way with her, and most certainly, have ruined her. Her life will never be the same.” “No, it will not.” “Have you had your way with her?” “I’m an officer in the Continental Navy, not a pirate.” Andrew eyed him levelly. “So you haven’t.” “The only reason I’m even goin’ to answer that question is because ye’re the lass’s brother and deserve one. But no, I haven’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, as black and wild a mane as Andrew had ever seen, and sighed. “Got too much respect for her, I do.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“It would be best if you left us for a bit, Nerissa.” “Why, so you two can beat the stuffing out of one another?” O’ Devir sipped his drink. “Wouldn’t be a fair fight, now, would it?” he said, swirling the liquid in its glass. “Indeed, I’d never take advantage of a fellow who’s just lost enough blood to float his own warship.” What makes ye think I’d be the one at a disadvantage?” Andrew raised a brow, but he caught the humor in the other man’s eyes and knew it was all in jest, perhaps only to set Nerissa, who was looking increasingly worried, at ease. “Pray God we never make each other angry enough to find out. Nerissa? If you please?” She folded her arms. “And just where am I supposed to go?” O’ Devir’s smile grew fond. “Go find Mr. Cranton, mo grá, and tell him I’d like him to bring ye round to the wounded. Seein’ a lady’s pretty face and hearin’ her gentle voice will be good medicine for them.” “You two won’t kill each other?” “Not tonight.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Outnumbered? What about Le Favre, that little maggot in command of the French frigate? Where was he durin’ all this?” Morgan shrugged. “Bolted as soon as things got hot.” “Bolted, did he? When I catch up to him he’s goin’ to wish his arse had been blistered in butter and set afire.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Nerissa, mo grá,” he said weakly, from where he had been dragged to a corner and propped up against someone’s jacket. “Mo cróga, bean laoch álainn.” He was still in the bloodied breeches, a clean band of linen wound just above one knee. “My brave, beautiful warrior woman.” His eyes, deep and bottomless in the lantern-lit darkness, looked up at her through their absurdly long lashes, and she reached a hand, still smelling of gunpowder, down to touch his bristled cheek. He closed his eyes and held it there, reluctant to ever let her go, and she reveling in the warmth of his skin beneath hers, the knowledge that his heart still pumped his lifeblood beneath her hand. “I could not let you die,” she breathed, kneeling down beside him and offering him the strength of her own slim, lithe body. His face was ghostly from loss of blood, and she could see that it was an effort for him to even keep his eyes open, let alone press her hand to his cheek. She sat down on the hard, blood-stained planking and gently gathered him in her arms, stroking his heavy curls as he rested his forehead against her shoulder. “Tá tú mo banlaoch,” he whispered. “My heroine. My savior….” “Sleep, Ruaidri. The ship is back in your men’s hands and you, my love, are safe in mine.” She threaded her fingers up through his hair and gently caressed his scalp, wincing at the hard swelling she found there. She did not want to think about how he must have received it. She did not want to think of him being hurt, she did not want to think of anything but how grateful she was that he was alive and safely in her arms. Hadley… the Royal Navy… Lucien. Strength and a hard, ruthless confidence filled her heart. She had come this far. She could deal with all of them. Ruaidri’s forehead grew heavy against her collarbone. He murmured something unintelligible and, with her hand still quietly caressing him, finally gave himself up to the demands of his body and slept.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“There’s something I need to tell you.” “Hadley’s intending to court me, isn’t he?” “Damned if I know, but Lucien would never allow it so don’t waste a moment’s worry on it. No, Nerissa, that’s not I came down here to tell you.” She went back to the cot and sat heavily down. “Oh, out with it, Andrew. I’m too tired and too upset to play games.” He came and sat beside her. Took a deep, bracing sigh and took her hand. “That villain who caused all this, Ruaidri O’ Devir—I have no wish to upset you even more, Nerissa, but… he’s alive.” “What?” “I’m sorry.” She stared at him, blinking, her mouth agape. Then her lip began to tremble, her body to shake, and the tears flowed down her cheeks in fresh abandon. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “He looked to be dead….” “Yes, well, rats, cockroaches and parasites are also hard to kill, aren’t they?” She looked over at him, her eyes suddenly flashing. “How dare you say such an awful thing!” “What?” “You heard me!” He stared at her, saw the anger in her eyes and suddenly it dawned on him why she’d been crying. The truth hit him like a punch to the stomach. “Oh, damn it all,” he muttered in disgust. “I knew it.” “Knew what?” “That you were in love with him. For God’s sake, Nerissa, what is the matter with you? You’ve always been a bit on the wayward side, but this really takes the cake.” She rounded on him. “None of us get to choose whom we fall in love with, Andrew, and you of all people should know that. You might’ve married someone of your own station, but Charles and Gareth certainly did not, and that doesn’t make their love for their wives any less valid or our sisters-in-law any less worthy just because they’re not of blue blood!” “Marriage?! Who said anything about marriage? Dear God, don’t tell me you’re going to marry him!” “I would indeed if he were to ask me!” “Has he?” “No, but if he did—” “Nerissa, he’s Irish.” “I don’t care if he’s from the damned moon!”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“She felt his absence, his loss, immediately. Knew that the vital force, the confident, larger-than-life energy that was Captain Ruaidri O’ Devir was no more. A buzzing started in her ears and the numbness began to take over. A Royal Navy officer was talking to her but she never heard the words, only saw his mouth moving. Never in her life had she felt more suddenly alone, as if someone had reached into her chest, wrapped cold fingers around her heart, and ripped it, still beating, out of her chest. Bile rose in her throat and she began to shake. Ruaidri? Ruaidri, where are you? She didn’t want to look for him amongst the bodies; she could not not look for him.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“What about… you?” she asked softly. “This was never about me.” He reached a hand out, stretched it along her leg, and made a sigh of contentment. “I took ye from England as an innocent, untouched virgin,” he said. “Tomorrow, I’ll be sendin’ ye back. Not so innocent anymore, but certainly untouched, and most definitely still a virgin.” “Untouched?” “Aye, untouched. Some day ye’ll marry, Lady Nerissa. You don’t think so, but ye will. I have made it such that what happened between us this afternoon, will remain our little secret. Always.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“She slammed the mug down, gasping, sucking in breath that was afraid to enter the same space that that—liquid had just passed through. Tears streamed from her eyes. As she coughed and gagged, Ruaidri also sat up, pressing the mug back into her hand, laughing as he bade her to take another sip. “I’m not drinking that foul stuff!” “The second sip’ll be easier. Ye’ve already broken ground with that first swallow.” “What is this?” “Irish whiskey.” He took another swig from his own mug. “It won’t kill ye.” She could feel the path of fire all down the back of her throat, down her esophagus and all the way to her stomach. But she was a de Montforte. She was not going to be cowed by a bit of Irish whiskey. Resolutely, she took another sip, grimacing behind the mug itself. “You are correct,” she allowed, resisting the urge to cough. “The second swallow isn’t so bad. Probably because my throat is now lined with scar tissue from the first one.” “Puts hair on yer chest,” he said, grinning. “I don’t want hair on my chest.” “What do ye want on yer chest, Lady Nerissa?” Startled, she met his gaze as she was about to take another sip of the whiskey. “I—I don’t know how to answer that.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“I want to make love to ye, lass.” “I… want you to, Ruaidri.” “Ye know what it entails, don’t ye?” She blushed but forced herself to be bold. “I know… certain things. And I’ve been… touched before.” “Have ye, now?” He was smiling with just one corner of his mouth. “Of course it was nothing more than a touch. And it might have been quite accidental, really. I’m a lady, Captain.” “I see. Do ladies lack the same desires that other females have?” “I’m not an ‘other female,’ so I don’t know.” “Hmph.” He let go of her hair and with one finger, traced the curve of her jaw, down to her throat, causing her to suppress a little shiver of desire. “Well, I’ve never taken a highborn English lady to me bed, but I can tell ye right now, Lady Nerissa, that ye’ve got the same parts an’ pieces as any other whether she be an Irish barmaid or an American seamstress, and I know very well how to make those parts an’ pieces work. To sing together in harmony, to bring ye such pleasure that ye’ll think ye’ve died and gone to heaven.” “Confident, aren’t you?” “Always.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“He was no coward but he was no fool, either, and Ruaidri knew they would meet again. But not, he hoped, until Saturday, the day after next. When the exchange would take place. When he would get the explosive and high-tail it back to Boston as he’d been sent here to do. Where he would say goodbye to little miss Sea Nymph, his nimfeach mara beag, and never see her again. He should be feeling a sense of triumph, of accomplishment, at the thought. Instead, it brought him only a desperate ache. I don’t want her to go. He wished he could marry her. It was impossible, of course—too much separated them when it came to culture and class. The very idea was ludicrous, though not so much that his mind didn’t keep flitting back to the idea despite his best efforts to direct it elsewhere. She was a gently-bred noblewoman who should never have been put into a position of being alone with a man. When he’d scooped her up off that London floor, he hadn’t thought that far ahead—an opportunity had presented itself and he had grabbed it. Now, he realized just how much he had taken from her and her family with that one impulsive action. The scandal would be tremendous, outrageous, forever damning. The world, the society papers, the people amongst whom she lived and breathed… all would think she’d been compromised. She could never be expected to make a decent match after this. She would be forced to live out her life as either a spinster or wife to a man who would not love her any more than that wanker Perry had, who would forever view her as damaged goods. He could offer for her, but she would surely refuse him and he wouldn’t blame her one bit. And yet… he could love her. He was already half in love with her, and to fall the rest of the way wouldn’t take much. He sensed a free and wayward spirit beneath the trappings of breeding and convention that complemented his own, and he had seen her kindness in her concern over McGuire when he’d gone overboard, the careful way she treated the blushing Cranton, the gentleness in her manner, her thoughts, her very soul. He had ruined her—and he owed her, no doubt about it.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“What are you saying, Captain O’ Devir?” “Stay here with me. Sail the seas, be free of balls and teas and social visits and expectations and the course yer brother will set for ye. Choose yer own path in life.” “Stay here with you?” “Why not?” “Stop saying that?” “Saying what?” “Saying, ‘Why not!’” He shrugged. “Well, it was just an idea.” Her palms suddenly felt cold, even as her heart began to race with the thrill of possibility. “I can’t stay here with you and you know it.” “Don’t see—” he grinned—“why not.” “Ohhhh!” “Think about it. We get on well. I want ye in my bed. If ye’re honest with yerself, ye want me in yours. Makin’ love to me wouldn’t be the trial it might be with someone who was suitable but repellent. Ye’d have no obligation to produce an heir. No obligations to an ancient family or a society that ye obviously ache to escape. Ye’d be loved and treasured and cared about, never set aside once yer purpose—whatever the divil that is—is fulfilled.” “What are you saying, Captain O’ Devir?” “That I’d marry ye, if I could. Give ye that freedom ye crave.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Well,” he murmured, watching her with a clever, knowing smile, “Given that ye didn’t hit me this time, I’m thinkin’ ye must have liked that.” “I’d be a liar if I claimed otherwise.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Ye know,” he said, his eyes hot with challenge, “I never did get me kiss.” She swallowed the sudden dry spot in her throat. “Given that you didn’t end up in battle, I guess you didn’t need the kiss after all.” “A matter of opinion, Lady Nerissa.” “A matter of fact, Captain O’ Devir.” “A matter that needs rectification.” “A matter best settled away from curious eyes,” she said as he reached out and gently tipped her chin up, grazing the soft skin there with his rough and callused thumb. She shuddered despite the warmth of the day and took a deep and steadying breath, hating her body for the way it so wantonly responded to this man who was wrong for in every single way she could possibly think of. His head was lowering to hers, his powerful shoulders blotting out the mast and the great sails behind them. She tried, feebly, one last time to head off what she knew was coming. “Careful, Captain. You wouldn’t want your men to see you kissing Midshipman Cranton, would you?” “I’m past carin’ what anyone thinks,” he said and reaching out, took her into his arms.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Well, Mr. Cranton,” she said, brows raised. “When you told me you needed my gown so as to clean the sea stains and tar from it, I had no idea that you had… uh, other uses for it.” Loud guffaws met her remark. “Really, Captain O’ Devir,” she said, turning to the grinning Irishman. “Your so-called Navy has some odd ways of amusing itself.” “Odd ways that saved all of our hides,” cried a nearby seaman. “Three cheers for our captain!” “Hip hip, huzzah! Hip hip, huzzah! Hip hip, huzzah!” Nerissa, confused, could only stare at them all. They’d surely lost their minds. “I expected there to be a sea fight, and I’m very glad there was not, but how did you manage to avoid getting blown to the ends of the earth, Captain O’ Devir?” He just shrugged, his eyes hungry and dark as he took in her long, willowy form, her legs clearly outlined in Midshipman Cranton’s skinny breeches. “Well, Lady Nerissa, ye’re the most valuable person on this ship and that countryman of yers back there knows it. He wouldn’t dare fire on us with you up here on deck.” “But I wasn’t up here on deck.” “Aye, precisely. But that piece of sh—… ehm, that blaggard back there, didn’t know that. Ye’ll stay in Cranton’s uniform so he doesn’t find out.” “What? What are you all talking about?” Lieutenant Morgan, chewing on a piece of dried ginger, was the one who clarified it for her. “Captain O’ Devir would never risk your life by having you up on deck where musket or cannonballs could be flying, so he had Cranton here pretend to be you.” The youth rubbed the back of his head. “Didn’t need to hit me quite so hard, sir,” he said good naturedly. “I nearly didn’t have to fake being knocked out cold.” “My heavens,” Nerissa said, as laughter greeted the youth’s remark, and immediately the sailor’s teasing resumed. “Still think you make a fetching young lady, Mr. Cranton!” “Can I call on you, my lady?” asked Tackett the sailing master, making an elegant leg to the blushing youth. “I’d love to run my fingers through your hair….” “Hell, I’d love to run mine through his cleavage.” “Hahaha!” “Shut yer gobs, ye rogues,” said Captain O’ Devir. “That’s an officer ye’re talkin’ to. Give him some respect.” More guffaws, because it was hard to give a man any respect when he stood before them in a lady’s gown, red-faced, fuming, and reaching into his bosom to tear out the other stocking. He flung it down. “My apologies, Lady Nerissa,” he said, looking like he was about to take a swing at the sailing master. “You should not have to listen to such talk.” She couldn’t help but be caught up in their high spirits. “I have brothers,” she said, smiling. “There’s not much that will offend me, I can assure you.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Greetin’s right back at ye, ye poxy shiteballs!” came the voice of the tall officer across the water. “This is the American Continental brig Tigershark, and I’m her captain, Ruaidri O’ Devir. Ye got somethin’ to say to me, or should we let our guns do the talkin’?” “He’s a bloody Irishman,” snarled Hadley, under his breath. His second lieutenant, Dewhurst, pressed close. “And a goddamned rebel. He’ll hang for this.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Here now, what’s this?” he said. “Ye’ll not come to any harm. Ye may despise me, Lady Nerissa, but I’d give me life before I let anythin’ happen to ye.” She wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she walked to the rail and leaned against it, looking out over the sea toward the frigate that was surely coming for her. Quietly, she said, “It’s not my own safety that concerns me.” He joined her, standing close enough that they could converse without their words being overheard. Softly, he asked, “Whose, then?” She just looked pointedly at him, then looked away again, her mouth a tight line. “Ah,” he said, and because her hand was only inches from his own, he reached out and covered it with his own. She did not pull away. Instead, her fingers—slender, soft and colored like the inside of a seashell—wound gently around his. She kept them that way for a long moment, gripping his hand with surprising strength and leaving him to wonder if hers would be the last female touch he ever encountered. One never knew, really, going into battle. “I don’t despise you,” she said. “Despite the fact you abducted me, starved me with the worst food I’ve ever been exposed to, and provided me with no change of clothing, you have been nothing but a gentleman toward me and I would hate to see anything happen to you.” He cocked his head and looked down at her. “What’s this? Have ye come to care about me, lass?” “Certainly not.” She let go of his hand as though his skin had burned her. The moment lay between them, still pulsing with life and bare, raw honesty. His gaze was drawn once more to her hand. A hand whose fingers had just entwined with his in fondness, in friendship, or maybe just in worry. He thought of where he’d like that hand to be. “Ah. Just wonderin’, then.” “Stop wondering, then. I don’t care about you. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” “I could get blown to bits today, y’know. Won’t be anythin’ left of me for yer brothers to kill. Just think of it, Lady Nerissa! I could die this mornin’, perhaps in your arms… and ye’ll always lament the fact you didn’t tell me you cared about me.” “Would you stop it?” “’ Twould be a lot to lay on yer conscience, now, wouldn’t it?” “Stop!”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One

“Yer brother will have received my ransom note by now and things should start to happen. Knowin’ the Royal Navy as I do, they won’t meet me on my terms but will try and set some of their own. Goin’ to miss me, Sunshine?” “No.” “Come now, not even a wee bit?” “No.” “Eh, well. Wish I could say the same, but it’s been rather fun havin’ ye aboard and tryin’ to get under yer skin.” “I am glad I was able to provide both entertainment and amusement,” she said dryly. “’ Twould have been better if ye’d allowed yerself to enjoy that kiss, too.” “Do you ever relent?” “Never.” His eyes were gleaming above his beard of soapy lather. “And I’ll be kissin’ ye again before I send ye home, I will.”
― Danelle Harmon, The Wayward One