For the Love of a Gypsy (18 page)

“
Bollocks
,” Declan muttered as he eased Martine’s body from atop his. “Coming.” He pulled on his britches and covered Martine with a blanket.

He opened the door and leaned against the jam to further protect her privacy. Nate and Pierce stood in the hall with sheepish expressions on their faces.

“We hate to disturb ye, but Randolph hasna been in Dublin for several days.”

“Damn.”

Pierce jumped at his outburst.

“We’ll be going to London?”

“Aye, go to the docks and book passage. You know the ship.” Declan knew Nate was familiar with the vessel from which he wanted passage purchased. “Martine bunks with me.”

“Of course, m’lord,” Pierce sputtered. “We wouldn’t do otherwise, to be sure.”

“Grand. Now leave me be until it’s time to sail.”

Pierce trotted down the hall. Nate remained and gave a crooked grin. “She appears to agree with ye, lad.”

“That’s enough out of you, you
eejit
.” He shut the door and smiled. Aye, Martine did agree with him. Together for love. There his beautiful woman lay, snuggled in the bed. ‘Twas Martine who saved him with her love and acceptance.

She stretched and yawned.

He pounced on the bed. “Wake up. ’Tis time to break our fast.”

She grinned, a sleepy little moue. “Aye, I’m starving.”

He kissed her then rose from the bed before he started something that would make them miss their voyage. “’Tis time to shop for you.”

She scoffed and pulled a face. “You bought half of Riverton for me already.”

He looked pointedly at her. A woman who didn’t want to buy gowns and hats and whatever else they bought? How lucky was he? “I’ve a right to spoil you.”

She sighed and tossed off the covers. He nearly jumped back into bed and feasted on her naked body.

“Now, now, I see that wicked gleam in your eye. We’ve shopping to do.”

He tapped her chin. “I thought you didn’t want to be spoiled.”

Martine waved at him. “Not for me, for you,” she said with a pointed look.

“Me?” His entire plan had backfired. He just wanted to give what she’d been lacking and now he was going to be subjected to the endless bore of shopping for himself. At least by purchasing items for her, he could enjoy her pleasure.

“Come on with you, get dressed.”

Declan obeyed, somehow feeling as if he were ten and on his way to be fitted for his first suit.

Chapter 21

After an endless morning of selecting trousers and suit coats, Declan had endured enough. He insisted Martine select something for herself.

“Look,” he said as he pointed across the road. “There’s a quaint shop.”

Kane’s Millinery
, the sign read. “Would you be pleased with a hat?”

She flushed and looked to the walkway.

Declan stopped and tipped up her chin. “What’s troubling you?” She bit her lip and his heart careened. “You can tell me.”

“It’s just the woman all have fair skin. And mine,” she said as she touched her cheek. “Is tanned.”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “My sweet, sweet, Gypsy.”

A frown tipped her mouth downward as she furtively glanced up and down the walkway. “Please do not call me that.”

He cocked his brow. She met his gaze, her eyes pleading. “I’m English. If others know me as a Gypsy, they’ll never accept me. And in doing that, they’ll never accept you—us.”

He tangled his hands in her hair, touched she was concerned with his image more than her own. She was unique, and he thanked God for it every day. “Don’t worry about me. If I have you, that’s enough.”

She smiled, but he saw doubt in her expressive eyes. “Let’s go see about a hat for you.”

As they entered the store, a bell tinkled. A woman came into the shop from behind a velvet curtain. Martine looked around the shop and smiled. He was enthralled by her reaction at the little shop, its neatness, and the variety of lovely hats stacked on the shelves.

“May I help you?”

“Aye,” Declan said as he grasped Martine’s hand. “We need a few hats.”

“You’ve come to the right place.” The auburn-hair woman walked from behind the counter and stood in front of her. He held tight as Martine tried to back away. She cast her gaze to him and he nodded encouragingly.

The woman tapped her lip. “I’ve just the thing.”

Declan stood back as the woman whisked Martine to the other side of the shop. Martine kept looking over her shoulder at him. He just smiled and watched her.

“Now this will accentuate your lovely eyes.”

He watched as Martine spoke with the woman. The uncertainty she exhibited on the walkway remained. It broke his heart for her to struggle, be concerned about her heritage. Perhaps she’d relax on the voyage after she spent more time away from her clan. She glanced over at him, the line of her jaw tight. He hoped she’d begin to enjoy shopping for herself.

“’Tis time to try it on.” The woman grabbed her hand and led her to a mirror. “I’m Bronwyn McKenna. Are you new to Dublin?”

“Aye, we just arrived yesterday.”

The woman smiled. “Ah, I thought so. Your accent gave you away.”

Martine dropped the hat on the small table before the mirror.

Declan came forward. “We were just passing through on our way to London. I’m Declan Forrester and this is my betrothed Martine.”

“Grand. Now, you may need an evening hat. Let me see,” she said as she surveyed the shop. “Yes, ‘tis perfect.” She selected a sapphire velvet hat that had intricate lace draped over the top and hung off the front. The lace was dyed the exact color of the velvet and was extraordinarily fine.

Martine put it on and pulled the lace over her face.

“’Tis perfect,” Declan and the woman said in unison.

She flushed at the attention and removed the hat. Somehow the shop seemed to calm her and she was able to focus on the task at hand. Declan surmised ‘twas the warm attitude of the proprietress.

“Your shop is lovely,” Martine said, as if trying to make up for her previous blunder.

“Thank you. I’m usually not here in the afternoon, but one of my girls was ill and needed me to fill in.”

Martine fingered the lace of the hat. “Do you make all of the hats?”

“My partner Caitlin and I make all the products as well as teach young women in need to make lace and hats.”

“’Tis a fine business,” Declan said. “We’ll take both of the hats.”

“Excellent.”

After they purchased the hats, they bid farewell.

“If you’re ever in Dublin again, please stop by,” she called after them.

“To be sure,” Declan assured her.

They strolled down the walkway, hand in hand as Declan balanced their purchases with his free one. “She was a nice woman.”

“Aye.”

“She runs her own shop. Can you imagine?”

“Many women do,” he replied.

She looked at him in surprise. “Aye, I suppose they do.”

Declan laughed and patted her hand. “’Tis time to return to the inn and see Nate about our voyage.”

‘Twas obvious she forced a smile. He furrowed his brow as he tried to think of a way to make her understand all would be well in London. As they made their way back to the inn, she stared forward as if she loathed to see if anyone reacted negatively to her—as if they’d recognize she was Rom and would point it out to all who could hear.

He swore he’d protect no matter what others thought.

Or he’d die trying.

Martine clutched her stomach as she once again heaved into a bucket. The choppy waves refused to cease. She leaned against the headboard of the bed and placed a cool cloth on her forehead. Declan had left to conference with his men, thank the Lord. She loathed for him to see her in such a dreadful condition.

And the stateroom did little to ease her discomfort. The bed and chair filled the room with just a narrow space to walk through and open the door. Their clothing stayed in their bags, horribly wrinkled and in need of washing.

Pah
. How long was this trip to last? It appeared endless, much more so than she remembered. The Rom had traveled from England to Ireland when she was so young she had no concept of time.

Declan peeked his head into the room. “Feeling any better?”

“Nay,” she mumbled as she wiped her sweaty brow.

He came in and sat upon the end of the bed. “’Twill be two more days if this weather holds.” Declan pushed her hair behind her ear and caressed her face. “Green or no, you’re still lovely.”

With as much energy as she could summon, Martine swatted at him.

“’Tis the truth of it,” he said with a crooked grin. “Try to rest and I’ll bring some broth.”

When she groaned, he kissed her brow.

“And once we are in London?”

“Depends on how you are feeling, to be sure.” He shrugged.

She bit her lip. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

His expression was inscrutable. “You won’t.”

“But—”

Declan put his fingers on her lips. “Shhh. Rest. We’ll talk later.”

He left the room after one more quick kiss. Och, he was a treasure. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Her stomach protested and Martine grimaced at the tears threatening to overflow her tired eyes. Instead of submitting to her errant emotions, she began planning for their future. A home, small and tidy. Children, at least a half dozen. And love, until they met their maker.

Children. How she missed her students.

She touched her stomach, envisioned it plump with Declan’s child. Aye, to have his child would be the best of things.

Hope flared within her and it was that hope she’d cling to as they made their way to London.

Chapter 22

“We need to prepare,” Declan stated. “Our welcome in England may be less than pleasant.” He scanned the faces of his men crammed in such a small room deep in the middle of the ship. Stern, resolved. ’Twas lucky he had such support.

“Aye,” Nate agreed. “We found as much when we landed before. The natives didna enjoy our presence.”

The normally silent Rufus slammed his fist against the table. “
Bollocks
. They hated us.”

Declan grinned, fueled by the challenge, the prospect of ending the torment of his being. To solve the mystery of his imprisonment had driven him to this day and he vowed to be victorious against the hidden nemesis. Getting back to the matter at hand, he said, “Since there was little word of Finn in Dublin, our first job will be to find him. This mystery has gone on for too long.”

Little voiced his opinion. “’Twill be like finding a needle in a haystack.”

He turned to Little and glared. “Aye, old man. And I’ve no doubt you’ll be up to the task.”

His butler chuckled and nodded.

“’Tis all for now. Go. Rest. I’ve Martine to attend to.”

Pierce fumbled in his pocket. “M’lord? I’ve a few pieces of willow bark and some chamomile leaves. ‘Twill help her stomach.”

“Thank you.” He left and headed directly to his room. He quickened his pace, eager to rid himself of the ideal of revenge in Martine’s presence. How she steadied him. ’Twas odd, in a manner of speaking, that he found love at all. Never experiencing any in the past, he’d been accepting of the fact he may be fated to be without.

Martine was tucked beneath the covers, her lush body curled into a ball. He ran a finger down her cheek, over her jaw, and along her graceful neck. Tempted as he was, he allowed her to sleep and sat in the chair nestled into the corner. Kicking his feet on the end of the bed, he leaned his head against the wall and gazed upon her.

He’d do anything to keep her safe, away from the venom he knew lay in London. Yet selfishly, he wanted her near, needed her near.

She stirred and he rose and burrowed behind her. As he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, she stilled and sighed.

Aye, ‘twas contentment, nay fulfilled he felt, to be sure. He inhaled the scent of her hair and rested his face as close to her as possible. He felt her chest rise and fall and allowed it to lull him to sleep. In the morning, they’d be one more day closer to London, and one more day closer to victory or ruin.

Martine clung to the chamber as her sickness lasted from morn to night. ’Twas disconcerting, the trouble her normally reliable stomach was causing. After three days on the rocking and rolling ship, she’d consumed only sips of broth and a soothing tea. Regretfully, its calming effects were short lived. Once the wind kicked up the waves, her stomach rebelled once again.

“’Twill be just a little longer, my love.”

Although her eyes remained closed, Martine heard him and gave a slight grin. His fingers felt lovely as they smoothed her hair and brushed against her skin.

“How would you like a bath?”

Her eyes popped open. “Truly?”

Chuckling, Declan pulled back the covers and helped her out of bed. “Truly.”

He led her to the captain’s cabin and rapped on the door.

“Enter,” a gruff voice called.

Although she felt like death, she looked forward to soaking in a bath, so she entered.

The richly appointed chamber contrasted greatly from the rest of the ship. Tapestries, plush rugs, and the most elaborate velvet dressings for the huge four-poster bed were only a fraction of what occupied the room. Jeweled trunks stacked in the corner looked as if they would topple at any given moment. And in the center of it all, at long table dressed for dinner with royalty, sat the captain, fork raised with a thick slick of mutton from the smell of it.

“So here’s yer woman, Forrester. Thought she was a myth. Come, join me.” He waved toward the table and poured a healthy glass of wine for himself.

Martine smiled at the magnitude of the man. A pirate by the looks of it, and a wealthy one at that. Gold glittered on his fingers and ears. A rich velvet doublet and waistcoat stretched over his broad shoulders and wide form. And a mass of black hair was tied back into a queue.

“May I present my betrothed, Martine.” Declan pulled out a chair and bade her to sit.

Again he failed to mention her surname. Was he doing it for her or him? Was Declan ashamed she was Rom? She so wanted to ask him, but was afraid of the answer. If he said no, would she believe him? And if he said yes, she couldn’t marry him. God, she prayed it was to protect her.

“Pleasure. Pleasure.” He flashed a toothy grin.

She felt her queasiness subside as she rested against the back of the chair. Even the thought of eating began to appeal to her.

“Please,” the captain said between bites. “Help yerselves.”

Declan selected tatties and mutton. He ladled soup into a bowl for her and gave her a small glass of wine. “Be careful. You’ve had nothing to eat in quite a while.”

She smiled at his concern and sipped the soup. She was much more interested in the captain. A robust man, he talked with an unfamiliar accent, thick with brogue and an underlying twang of an unknown origin.

He squinted at her and said, “Bloody hell, Forrester, she’s a beaut.” He winked, and she felt a blush stain the crest of her cheeks at his audacious comment.

Mischief filled Declan’s gaze. “Aye, ‘tis the truth of it.”

She waved a hand. “Pah. I’m dirtier than some of your sailors.”

The men laughed and the captain said, “I’m Captain Brooks.”

She nodded and sipped her wine. The flavorful spirit eased down her throat and settled into her stomach. Pleased her body didn’t rebel, she took another sip.

Brooks regarded her intently. “A bath ye’ll have, milady. And I’ve some gowns that would suit ye.”

Although tempted, Martine held up her hand. “I couldn’t possibly.” Och, it cost her, especially since her new clothing was secured below deck and out of her reach.

“Ha,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Insult me and no bath for ye.”

She blanched, disgusted with her filthy hair and skin. “’Twould be my pleasure to accept.”

“That’s the way tae be, milady.” He thunked down his glass and wine sloshed over the rim and onto the table. He stood and went over to the trunks. He lifted the massive objects as if they weighed as little as a feather. Opening one, vibrant fabrics slipped over the sides.

Not able to restrain her curiosity, Martine rose and looked into the wooden trunk. Heavenly silks and damask made into breathtaking gowns shimmered before her eyes. She reached out to touch one, then quickly pulled back her hand.

Brooks picked up one of the gowns and held it before her. “’Twill suit.”

While she enjoyed the captain’s jovial attention, she felt Declan’s scrutiny. He sat leisurely with his feet resting on a chair, ankles crossed. But his intense gaze never left her.

The way he watched her sent shivers of pleasure through her and she wished they were in their chamber. She flushed and turned her attention back to the Captain.

Martine fingered the gown and nodded.

The captain laid the gown on top of the trunk.

Declan raised his glass in salute. After a moment, he said, “’Tis time for business, Brooks. Ready my betrothed’s bath.”

He nodded. “Aye, have one of yer men stand guard. Wouldn’t want to be temptin’ me own.”

Martine shivered and tried to dismiss the oblique remark. The captain pulled a chain near the doorway. In the distance, mixed with the sounds of cresting waves and men shouting orders, a bell tinkled. Brooks then grabbed the bottle of wine and nodded to Declan.

He flashed a reassuring smile and followed the captain. “I’ll send Little to watch the door,” he called over his shoulder.

After the men had left, a cabin boy entered with steaming buckets stretching each arm. “’Ere’s yer water, m’lady.”

She moved aside so he could enter. “Thank you.”

He set down the buckets and wiped his brow. “I’ll be getting the tub.” The young boy went to the corner and whipped back an oilcloth. Beneath the cloth was the largest tub she’d ever seen. She could barely hide her excitement. As the tub slowly filled with bucket after bucket of water, she told the boy to set the last bucket for rinsing and bade him to leave. She peeked out the door to ensure Little was at his post, then closed and secured the door to intruders.

’Twas heaven, the hot water soaking the dirt from her body. Tension eased from her as she lathered the scented soap the captain had left on a chair along with a linen towel.

As she bathed, she inspected her surroundings once again. How did her husband know such a man enough to do business? Was the captain the reason Declan seemed to have ample funds? The more time she spent with her husband, Martine realized how little she knew him. Surely, once they reached London answers would be given.

She soaped her hair and rinsed with the cumbersome bucket. Satisfied she was as clean as possible, she lifted from the now tepid water and dried off. She still walked a little slowly, gripping her stomach when it rumbled.

Martine picked up the peacock blue gown with white lace trimming and gold stitches. A matching pair of slippers were found beneath, along with under garments.

‘Twould be suitable to wear as they departed to ship. After she twisted her hair into a knot at the base of her neck, Martine opened the door.

A piteous whimper passed her lips when Declan turned around and startled her.

“Clean as a whistle, I’d say.” He captured her in his arms and nuzzled her neck. “Hmmm.”

Martine squirmed against him. He trailed kisses up her neck, over her chin, and then finally captured her mouth with searing heat, spurring her heartbeat.

“Declan,” she whispered. “We’re in the captain’s cabin.”

He lifted his head and looked chagrinned. “Och, that’s the truth of it.” He led her out of the chamber as he flashed her a smile full of promise and raw with lust. She shivered at the invitation his gaze extended, pleased with his humor.

They strolled to their cabin, hand in hand, heat simmering between them as each step led them closer to making love. The breeze off the water hinted at fish and brine as it mingled with the crisp blue day blessed with sunshine.

“You look lovely,” he said as his gaze slid slowly over her.

Humor laced his tone, so she tilted her chin up and replied, “Aye, ‘tis lovely, isn’t it?”

He grinned and nodded. “You seem to have found your sea legs, my love.”

She nodded to one of the crew as they passed. “Aye, just in time to land, I’d say.”

His jaw pulsed and his blue eyes deepened with what she knew was desire. He pulled her hard against him and kissed her hungrily. Martine felt it to her toes as excitement and passion surged through her body.

She was no longer aware of the austere ship’s deck, the sailors watching or completing their tasks. Declan’s hard body imprinted on her own so deeply she found it hard to breath.

“To our cabin, my love.”

She nodded and followed his lead. They reached the cabin quickly, prodded by their desire to be in one another’s arms.

He secured the door, shifted her so she leaned against it, then crushed her against him. He splayed his hands on the hard wood and just devoured her lips. She started removing his clothing, and all the while their mouths never parted. He loosened her stays, practically tearing the gown from her. They tumbled onto the small bed and began the dance that had become their own as their love flowed from one another in nips and caresses and panting breaths.

The evening rang in as barely audible shouts in the distance announced their arrival in London. Martine ignored the shouts as the crest of desire rode through her body in a wave of unrestrained passion. Together they coaxed physical and emotional responses from each other as their bodies merged into one. She touched every part of his body, loving the twitch and strain of his muscles, the hiss when she touched a particularly sensitive spot. Ah, she loved when he nuzzled her neck, nipped along her jaw. Sweat sheened their bodies and Declan lapped along her shoulder, between the valley of her breasts, tickled along her navel.

“You taste delicious,” Declan murmured against her skin, his breath hot and moist.

She laughed and he pulled up. His knuckles grazed along her cheek. “God, Martine you are so beautiful.”

“Ah, my handsome man.”

They plunged into the passion, the love surrounding them, until at last climax was reached as they called each other’s name.

Declan collapsed beside her. “You’ll be the death of me,” he said as he traced her jaw with his forefinger. “’Twill be a blessed way to go.”

She chuckled and snuggled into his arms. “We’ve arrived.”

“Aye, that we have.” He voice was sleepy.

“In London.”

She felt him tense as muscles in his arms flexed tightly. He lifted from the bed, the moment lost. Bitter awareness came painfully to her. She wished they’d never come but knew peace would remain elusive to him if they did not. He retrieved her gown from the floor and laid it upon the foot of the bed. He avoided her gaze, obviously lost in his own thoughts, which she knew were anything but pleasant by the scowl on his face. Sighing, she began dressing, truly unsettled at the uncomfortable silence after such shared passion.

They left their cabin and the ship unhindered, Martine aware of Declan’s men walking silently behind them. She tried to prod him into conversation, all to no avail.

“Nate and Lange, secure a carriage for Martine to be taken to the townhouse.”

Townhouse
? Was he not going with her? Hurt and anger blurred her vision as she tried to assimilate herself to the busy and dirty docks. At the end of the plank, Declan brought her hand to his lips. “You’ll be taken to my home. Feel free to make yourself comfortable. ‘Tis ours now.”

She glowered at him, but he failed to acknowledge her displeasure. She thought he would at least bring her to their home. They’d enter together and he’d introduce her to his staff. But now—now she’d be alone.

Little and Pierce flanked her as they escorted her to the waiting carriage. She allowed one last look at the ship and witnessed Declan and his men in deep conversation with Captain Brooks. The man handed Declan a large bag and they shook hands. What sort of dealings did her husband have with this man, she wondered, fearful and curious at once?