A Reckless Beauty (17 page)

“You see, Beales was using his Red Men Gang to smuggle gold to France, to ingratiate himself with Bonaparte,” Fanny told Valentine as he remained silent, forced to acknowledge that Fanny Becket was much, much more than the beautiful young girl he had desired, then married. “That ended, of course, when the Red Men were exposed, but we might have been exposed, as well, to Beales. He…he could come back. He could find us. We have no where to go, not again, even though Papa has ordered another ship built, to take us all away if need be.”

Valentine tossed the remainder of the cheroot into the sea. His mind was reeling, even as the trained soldier in him not only had taken in her every word, but had also dissected every fact, listed questions in his mind. He’d begin with the one most troublesome to him personally. “You’d go back to the islands? I could have taken you home, never to see you again.”

Fanny had felt herself becoming more and more upset as she neared the end of her story. Most of what she’d told him was the story she had learned by rote and had rather recited for Valentine. It was her nightmare that truly frightened her now. The past haunted her, yes. But the future terrified her.

“No. Never there, I’m sure. We could never go back there. You know, I never really remembered more than bits and snatches of that last day. Most of what I think I know was only told to me. I always knew that it was Rian who had saved me, kept me safe. But when Rian left to take up his commission, I began…I began having these dreams about that day. These nightmares…”

Valentine took her hands in his. “
Shh,
sweetings. You’re trembling. I want to hear everything you feel comfortable telling me, but that’s enough for now.”

She shook her head violently. “No, I have to say this, Brede. I have to tell you what I remember—what I saw in my nightmare. I could see Rian running with me tucked under his arm. I could feel his hand clamped tightly over my mouth as we hid in a cave, so I wouldn’t cry out, so we wouldn’t be discovered in our hiding place. I…I remember biting him, actually drawing blood. Rian still has…had the scar on his palm. And then…later, I could see him running with me toward the ships once Papa had found us. I…I could even see the dress I wore that day. All of it.”

She turned, looked up at his face in the darkness, her expression bleak. “I can still
taste
the memories, Brede, even taste Rian’s blood. I was standing next to the Duke of Wellington, but all I could see or hear or taste was that last day on the island. It was so very horrible. I was so horribly afraid. I hid behind a tree, willing myself not to scream, and I shook, for hours….”

“When the island was attacked. How old were you, Fanny?” Valentine asked, still reeling from what she’d told him, trying to take it all in, wondering how in hell he could comfort her.

“Three, I think. That’s what Papa and Odette decided was a good age for me when we first came to the island. Rian was closer to nine. We…we shared the same birthday, growing up. That’s how we settled on birthdays—we used the day that Papa first found us. It was our birthday, Brede, the day of the battle. Now I’ll have that birthday alone, won’t I? How will I face it?”

She took a shaky breath, pushed on with her explanation. “Rian stayed with me on the ship. He told me that I wouldn’t let him go, not for a moment, day or night. I followed him like a faithful puppy, I suppose, the whole time we were growing up, and drove him near to distraction more times than I can count. But I always feel safe when I’m with…when I was with Rian.”

“He saved you, he took care of you,” Valentine said, nodding. He was beginning to understand at least that much. She and Rian had shared a terrible yet special bond from the time they were children. Any other questions he had could wait until he saw Jack, who would certainly give him more details about this Edmund Beales person and his grandiose plans.

“Yes. Rian took care of me. He was mine, and I was his. And now he’s gone.” She pulled her hands free of Valentine’s and wrapped her arms around her waist, squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s silly, I suppose. No, I don’t suppose. I
know
it’s silly. I’m a grown woman now, not a child. Nightmares are just nightmares. But Edmund Beales is still out there somewhere, and even with Papa and the others, I don’t…I don’t know how to feel safe anymore….”

Valentine stepped in front of her, gently pulled her into his embrace. “You’ll be safe with me, Fanny. I promise you. You’ll always be safe with me.”

Fanny caught her breath on a sob and nestled closer into him, rubbing her uninjured cheek against the damp wool of his greatcoat, slipping her arms inside the cloth so that she could hold tight to his waist even as his arms closed over her back. She shut her eyes, feeling his strength, craving his protection….

V
ALENTINE WASN
’
T SURE
how long the two of them stood that way beside the rail, but eventually he realized that it was raining harder again. He leaned down, gently lifted Fanny into his arms and carried her back down the steps to the main saloon.

His mind was still reeling from all she’d told him, the secrets she’d allowed him. He felt humbled. He now had the power to destroy her family, and she’d given him that power because she trusted him never to use it.

And he wouldn’t. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to confront Jack Eastwood with what he now knew, to have his old friend fill in any information Fanny may have neglected to tell him, or possibly did not know existed.

Because Fanny was his now, and he also knew how to protect what was his own.

He carried her through the main saloon and softly kicked open the door to the stateroom, not putting her down until they were beside the bed.

She kept her palms against his chest, looked up into his eyes. He saw the question in them, but no fear. Had telling him about her fears helped to banish them? He could only hope that was true.

“It’s getting very late, sweetings,” he told her as he untied her cloak and eased the hood away from her bandage, then removed the cloak and tossed it in the general direction of the doorway. His greatcoat and knitted hat, both beyond damp, followed. “Time for you to sleep.”

Fanny’s stomach clenched at the thought of being alone here in the stateroom. Talking about her past had all but guaranteed that she’d dream of that past, and any dream about the island had to turn into a nightmare. If that made her a foolish female afraid of bogeymen, then so be it. “But…where will you sleep?”

“I can make do in the main saloon. I’ve had worse accommodations.”

She could hear her heart rapidly beating in her ears. “But that’s silly. It’s an enormous bed. We can both sleep in here. Can’t we?”

“Fanny,” Valentine said, hoping she’d see reason. “That’s probably not a good idea. You’re still recovering from your wound, and you’ve had a…a full day.”

She grazed her fingertips across his chest. “Is it what I told you? You’re appalled with all of us, aren’t you?”

He shook his head. “By your family? Not a bit. After all, how can a spy be appalled by a privateer, a smuggler? And I wouldn’t want anyone climbing too far up the Clement family tree, to tell you the truth. We’re all descended from sometimes nefarious ancestors, most especially those who somehow managed to wrest a title from one of our kings, let alone hold on to it for several centuries. I am angry, incensed actually, at this Edmund Beales and what he did to all of you.”

“I’m terrified that he’ll find us,” Fanny told him, a shiver running down her spine just at the sound of the man’s name. “We were safe, for so many years, but everything’s been different since last summer. Papa ordering the ship, my brother Chance visiting so much more frequently, closeting himself with Papa and Jacko and my other brothers for hours and hours. I wasn’t allowed to ride Molly on the Marsh anymore unless someone accompanied me. And then Bonaparte escaped from Elba, and Rian was so angry he said more than he should to me, let slip that Edmund Beales might have aided in that escape.”

“But Bonaparte’s been defeated, Fanny. This man Beales may have lost all his power along with that defeat.”

“Or he’ll have more time now to search us out,” Fanny said, for she’d had considerable time to consider bogeymen. “We’re well protected at Becket Hall, Brede, I know that. But we’re also very isolated, with the Channel to our backs.”

“In other words, attack could come by land or sea. Or both,” Valentine mused aloud. Yes, he’d have to take Fanny home soon, see Becket Hall and her interesting Papa, speak with Jack. Strangely, he felt his blood running faster, intrigued by the prospect of facing and outwitting this Edmund Beales. “That’s enough for tonight, sweetings. We’ll speak about all of this another time, when you’re feeling stronger. For now, I only want to thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about your family.”

Fanny lowered her head, ashamed. “I married you so you’d take me away, Brede, protect me. You know that now, don’t you?”

He smiled slightly. “Yes, you saw me as your port in a storm, didn’t you?”

She raised her head sharply, her cheeks pale. “You…you said that in my dream.”

“I was in your dream? I’m flattered. Now, ask me if I really think that, if I’m sorry I married you.”

She shook her head. She didn’t want to hear his answer.

“Did it ever occur to you, Fanny, that you might be my port in a storm?”

“But…but that’s ridiculous. How could I possibly help you?”

He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “For one, you remind me I’m alive. I can’t consider that a bad thing. Even if you do bedevil the life out of me more often than not.”

She felt her strength returning, and with it, the thrill of bantering with this infuriating, fascinating, kind and very appealing man. “Oh, I do not. I—Well, I probably do, don’t I?” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“You don’t listen,” he pointed out. “You seem to think that orders are merely guides to point out ways to misbehave.”

She nodded. “Now you sound like Sergeant-Major Hart.”

“He’s very fond of you.”

“I don’t know why. I caused him nothing but trouble.”

“While making my life a veritable picnic with your sweet obedience,” Valentine teased, and pressed a kiss against her forehead. Then he sobered. “Time for sleep, Fanny. There will be other nights.”

Fanny plucked at the buttons of his shirt. “I…I don’t want to be alone
this
night, Brede. Stay with me. Please.”

“Fanny, for the love of heaven, don’t you realize that—”

She didn’t
realize
anything. She wanted, needed, to be held. To feel alive. To avoid the nightmares. Before he could point out any flaws or potential problems in hopes they would dissuade her, she put her hands on his shoulders and went up on tiptoe, pressing her mouth to his.

Valentine knew it was wrong, on so many levels, but that didn’t keep his arms from finding their way around Fanny’s back as she inexpertly ground her lips against his.

“Again, please,” he said when she broke the kiss, mimicking what she had said to him in what seemed like a lifetime ago. “But this time…like this.”

He put the pad of his thumb to her chin, lightly pulling down her bottom lip, and then took her mouth with his own slightly open mouth. Gently at first, slanting first this way, then that…tugging provocatively on her bottom lip with his teeth, then sealing himself more tightly to her, his tongue sliding into her sweet mouth. She tasted of sugared peaches, she tasted of youth, of life, and all he wanted to do was to feed on her.

He drew slightly away from her, giving her a chance to say no, to turn away. But she only grabbed his face in both her hands and pulled him back to her.

This time it was she who nipped at him, boldly mimicked what he’d done with his tongue, the student eager to impress her tutor with what she had learned.

Like a man sliding under the surface of the water for the third time, Valentine gave himself up to his fate, drowning happily in Fanny’s kiss, scooping her up only to deposit her on the burgundy satin coverlet, then follow her down.

Fanny reveled in the warm weight of his body along her length, caught between the pleasure of his hands on her and a feeling that she was safe. Nothing could hurt her, as long as Valentine was with her. Not the demons of the past or those looming over the future. She didn’t have to think; she couldn’t think. She could only feel, experience. Learn.

Her fingers went to his shirtfront and she loosed the buttons, slipped her hands inside to touch Valentine’s warmth, his strength. Pressed her palm against him, felt his heart beating fast. For her? Or was this simply
necessary
for him, as it was for her? A man like Valentine, he must have demons of his own.

He knew so much; she knew so little. But where he went, she eagerly followed.

While the beat of a heavy rain pounded unheard on the roof of the stateroom, as the yacht began rolling slightly in a sea growing rough, Valentine continued to learn of her, even as he tutored her. Their clothing had disappeared, sliding off the smooth, slippery satin to the floor. Fanny’s silvery-blond hair splayed out on the burgundy satin, her back arched as he kissed her exposed jawline, trailed his lips down her to awaken new desires as he took her nipple into his mouth, suckled gently. Filled himself with the taste of her, dragged his tongue over her until her body responded, as her breathing quickened and she moaned low in her throat.

She grew passive, accepting what he was doing, each new and unexpected way he touched her, concentrated on her body’s response to his ministrations rather than initiating any of her own.

She didn’t know what to think, so she merely ceased thinking. She
felt.
She gave herself over to him, her limbs feeling almost liquid, a heat growing deep in her belly, turning her boneless. Pliant. Accepting.

And then eager. He’d slipped his hand between her legs, touching her so intimately, eliciting a response so devastating, that Fanny could no longer just lie there, accepting. She had to move, just as he moved his fingers. She had to touch, so she clasped on to his back as best she could, her fingertips curving into his skin, holding on, because she felt herself spinning out of control.

Valentine could feel her growing heat, her sweet arousal; he sensed her confusion. He couldn’t spare her the pain, but he knew it was best to get past it as quickly as possible.

So young, so sweet, so trusting. He didn’t want to hurt her. God knew she’d been hurt enough. Why was it that women had to feel the pain before the pleasure? Perhaps his own pain, knowing he was about to hurt her, was no less hurtful, but was only a different pain.

He settled himself between her legs, whispering against her ear as she held on tight. “Do you want me to stop, sweetings? I could stop now. Just hold you.”

She turned her head slightly, looked into his eyes in the near darkness. “You’d do that?” she asked him quietly.

Jesus God, he would. He, a man who had always taken his pleasure where he found it. “You’ve only to ask.”

“But I won’t do that,” she told him, reaching up her hands to push her fingers through his nearly chin-length hair, that had fallen forward onto his face, turning him from the redoubtable Earl of Brede into the man who had risked his own life to help her find Rian. The faintly nervous man who had kissed her in the gardens, who had asked her to be his wife only because he was concerned for her, perhaps felt some sort of duty toward her. A good man. An honorable man. An unselfish man.

“Then God help us both, sweetings, because there’s no going back now.”

He eased himself against her, pushed past the barrier that separated them, and slid deeply inside her, catching her soft cry with his mouth. Held her tightly against him for long moments…then began to move.

Fanny clung to him with all her strength, matching his movements with her own, until her limbs turned liquid again, the tension inside her coiled tighter, and then tighter still. Until she felt a warm flush all over her body and the urgency turned to unexpected glory.

Valentine let go of the tightly held reins on his own desire and gained his own release, holding Fanny tightly, for to let her go would be to lose everything he’d only this moment realized he’d never had before, had been looking for all of his life.

Without another word, he kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her closed eyes. He helped her slide beneath the covers and then turned her back to him, pulling her close against his body, his arm across her waist, holding her tight.

He would hold her now, let her find sleep. Words could only ruin what had just happened between them. Besides, he wasn’t sure what
had
happened. He only knew that where once he had been so sure of himself, sure of his life, he now looked toward the future with a mix of anticipation and fear. He’d never had someone in his life like this before, someone he felt fairly certain at last gave meaning to that life.

Fanny lay beside him, fighting sleep, her eyes slowly closing as she clung to the delicious but fading feeling of complete and utter pleasure. Valentine had been correct—what they’d done had been necessary. Needed, by them both.

It was only as she slipped into sleep, the sound of the steady rain on the roof soothing her, that she remembered that she had no right to be so happy, to feel so suddenly secure, safe, even loved. “Oh, Rian…” she breathed softly into the dark, begging his forgiveness.

It was then, and only then, hearing Fanny breathe her brother’s name on a sigh, that Valentine realized something he should have realized the instant she’d told him that Ainsley Becket had taken her in, had taken Rian in, as well.

Rian Becket hadn’t been Fanny’s brother by blood. They hadn’t really been brother and sister.

Make her forget me. She has to forget me.

Finally, those words made sense.

Fanny had loved her brother…who was not her brother by blood. And he, Valentine Clement, the once honorable Earl of Brede, had left that brother to die alone…and then bedded the grieving sister as she reached out for comfort.

Because he’d wanted to. Because he could.

Valentine slid out from beneath the covers, picking up his clothing and taking it with him to the main saloon. He dressed quickly, his mouth set in a tight line, and then pulled the stopper on a crystal decanter, poured himself a generous measure of brandy and headed up on deck. To raise a glass to the bloody stupid fool he was.