“Who are they, Robin Hood?” she spat, gesturing to the other men. “Your band of merry men?”
Nick shrugged. “You might say that. They’re my crew.”
“Your crew?” Ashley looked at Nick then back at the men. What would the second son of a marquess need with a crew? “What crew?”
Gold Tooth doffed his black hat and bowed. “Crew of the Robin Hood. Best privateer ship in the Atlantic. Cap’n, I need to speak with you.”
Ashley stared at him. “The Robin Hood?” She swallowed as the air in the room seemed to evaporate. That name was familiar. A ship. A privateer ship? Ice raced through her veins. Now she remembered. The ship—it was a pirate ship—had been in the papers. Her brothers had discussed it at length one evening. The ship and its captain were wanted by the navy for acts so vile her brothers would not discuss them in her presence.
But Nick couldn’t be—he wasn’t—
She turned to stare at him. With his bronze skin, unruly black hair, and startling blue eyes, he certainly looked the role of a pirate.
But he was also Lord Nicholas Martingale. He was charming and polished and accepted in the best homes in Society.
This Captain Robin Hood nonsense couldn’t be true.
Please, don’t let it be true. Don’t let her be married to—
“Allow me to introduce myself.” Nick bowed with a flourish. “Captain of the Robin Hood at your service.”
THE LOOK ASHLEY GAVE him was so full of hate that Nick almost stepped back. Well, he hadn’t exactly expected her to rejoice at her new status. And he supposed that the only thing worse than being the wife of a wayward rogue who broke your heart was being the wife of Captain Robin Hood.
But then this situation wasn’t exactly his fault. He’d tried to protect her from finding out his true identity. He’d tried to protect her from being part of this life he knew she couldn’t possibly support.
Now maybe she’d understand why he’d cut things off between them all those months ago.
She snatched the poker from Mr. Fellows and turned, waving it at Nick. “You bastard.”
Or maybe not.
Nick clenched his jaw. He didn’t really want to play this out in front of his men. He’d sent a message to his ship a day or two ago informing the crew of his planned arrival in Gretna Green and asking his officers to meet him. Now that they’d arrived, he was eager to return to the Robin Hood.
Without Ashley Brittany—make that Ashley Martingale—in tow.
But what other choice did he have? He couldn’t exactly leave her here, alone and unprotected in Scotland.
She waved the poker at him again, and Nick tried to hold his temper.
“How dare you be a pirate? How dare you make me the wife of a pirate? How—”
“Uh, Captain?” Red, his bos’n, said tentatively, stroking his patchy red beard. “I hate to interrupt this er—domestic moment, but we ‘ave a bit o’ a crisis on our hands.”
Nick straightened. “Crisis?” He grabbed the poker out of Ashley’s hand and tossed it to Mr. Johnson, who was one of his yardmen and, with all of his arghs, playing the role of a pirate very well. Nick hauled Ashley up against him, where she wouldn’t get in any trouble. “What crisis?”
“Unhand me! Let go.”
He ignored her struggles, instead focusing on Chante, his quartermaster. “Mr. Chante?”
The quartermaster barely gave the fighting woman a glance before saying, “I tried to tell you.” He scowled at Ashley as though this were her fault. Then he looked back at Nick. “Trouble with our old friend again. But this time it’s more than a swipe at the Robin Hood. This time old Yussef gone too far.”
Nick felt fear, cold and hard, settle in his belly. “What do you mean?”
Ashley must have heard something in his tone because she stopped struggling. Nick glanced down at her and saw that she was watching Chante, a mixture of curiosity and concern on her face.
“Sir, I doan like to be the one to tell you this—”
The fear in Nick’s gut was like ice now. So cold it hurt. “Spit it out, Mr. Chante.”
