Bound by the Heart (21 page)

"Well, I'll be damned." Sir Lionel drained
his glass loudly. "You're a credit to your uniform, Bennett, m'boy. Both
of you young men are."

Commodore Winfield smiled blandly. "Now all we
have to do is isolate the islands within a day's sail or be lucky enough to
stumble across the one Wade calls Bounty Key. It is a shame we don't know ahead
of time when he plans to cut through the Sirens. It would be a fairly simple
maneuver to lie somewhere on the other side of the reef—there are dozens of
little islands to give cover—and simply follow him home."

Admiral Stonekipper nodded thoughtfully. "How
long do you estimate your work on the
Caledonia
will take?"

"Two weeks," Bennett replied. "Then
another ten days or
so for sea trials."

"Hmmm. These sea trials . . . where were you
proposing to conduct them? And are you certain ten days is a fair enough
test?"

Bennett returned the admiral's steady gaze. "Why,
naturally it would be better to run her completely through her paces."

"On a patrol, for instance? I imagine the
revenuers would be appreciative of extra support. I understand the French are
becoming a nuisance through the Mona Straits . . . and points north."

"North, sir?"

"Mmmm. Wouldn't hurt to
go up and have a closer look at those dozens of little islands you mentioned .
. . discreetly, of course."

"Of course," Bennett
smiled.

"When is the
Northgate
due in from her patrol?"

"Within the week, I'm
sure."

"This Captain Forbes
...
I don't know the man all that well. It won't do to have a
hothead at the wheel, though, not when the climate is beginning to warm up.
What about Ashton-Smythe? I heard he was up for a command of his own."

"I believe he is, sir. Emory is a good man; his
officers speak highly of him."

"I believe I'll give it some serious thought. In
the meantime, Winfield, I trust I can leave the details of your sea trials to
you. A lot of nonsense, this business about not using our warships to go out
and hunt the blighters down. Never mind. That'll change any day now, mark my
words. As soon as the king's mistress finds herself short of spices and sugar
for her sweets, we'll be given our hunting orders. For the moment"—the
admiral indicated the door—"I might suggest a little sweetening closer to
home. I have a feeling we were all to blame for Summer's headache. You will
extend our apologies to her?"

"Of course, sir."

Sir Lionel chuckled and thumped his son-in-law
heartily on the shoulder. "Hold her hand and tell her she's very clever.
That'll warm her soon enough. Tell a woman she's foolish and pea-brained, and
they lord it over you for weeks on end. Now, gentlemen, if we have concluded
our business
...
I have some rare
Jamaican rum that wants tasting."

Harvey Aslop declined politely, citing a midnight duty
watch on the
Caledonia.

Bennett lingered in the library, listening as the
rumble of voices crossed the hallway and faded behind the closed doors of the
drawing room. He stared thoughtfully up at the map and finished the two
swallows of brandy remaining in his glass.

The Twin Sirens.

"I'm looking forward to meeting you there,
Captain Wade," he murmured. "More than you can know."

Chapter 12

S
ummer trailed
her hand down the iron grillwork that covered the
lower half of the window. She was in the sitting room that comprised part of
their suite of rooms in the south wing of Government House. The lamps were not
lit, and she was curled into the cushions of the window seat, bathed in the
glow of moonlight streaming through the open shutters. Her hair was brushed
loose and gleamed silver in the light. Her skin was faintly luminescent. The
vines growing through the grillwork had sprinkled the cushions with fallen
jessamine petals, which she collected and set free on the currents of night
air. Directly in her line of vision were the formal gardens, the rows of palm
trees and flagstone pathways, the arbors, the huge central fountain that
trapped the moonlight and turned the water into a cascade of spilling diamonds.

She sighed and snapped off a fresh blossom.

Tonight's display in the drawing room had not been an
isolated incident. For some inexplicable reason the tension and confusion she
had felt since disembarking from the
Vigilant
had not lessened a degree. There were a number of
causes, she supposed. Unavoidable mention of Morgan Wade, for one thing, kept
the memories alive and thriving. Her feelings of guilt seemed to grow every
day, guilt for what had happened, guilt over her inability to just come right
out and tell Bennett what had taken place in the aftercabin of the
Chimera,
guilt that she could not
forget what happened that night on Bounty Key.

Why? Why couldn't she forget? The wedding had been a
complete success. She had looked and felt her radiant best. Bennett had been
breathtakingly handsome. He was proving to be a kind and considerate husband, a
gentle, patient lover. Smooth—that was how she thought of Bennett. His skin was
smooth, his voice was smooth, his motions were smooth and cool and precise. She
might never have known there was anything missing from their marriage if not
for the seven tumultuous days and nights spent with Morgan Wade.

Summer squeezed her eyes shut, forcing away the sudden
image of a dark smiling face. She could hear him laughing as if he were in the
room with her—the deep, resonant lash of sound that had her temper instantly on
guard and her flesh tingling in anticipation.

Bennett's laugh was smooth and calculated, like
everything he did. He was stern and cool and efficient. He was the perfect
gentleman in every way, the perfect husband, the perfect lover. She knew there
were women on the island bitterly envious of her, of what she had with Bennett
Winfield. She knew that most arranged marriages were dismal stilted affairs
where both partners ground their teeth, held their chins high and endured as
best they could. So why was she miserable? Miserable and . . . and restless.

She had startled him—startled them all tonight—with
the story of the
Northgate
's attack on the
Chimera.
She had seen the anger flush
into Bennett's cheeks with the embarrassment of having to question her like any
other stranger. She should have told Father and Bennett everything right from
the beginning. She should have let the words tumble out without stopping to
think, without stopping to reason if it felt right or wrong to say them. Wade
deserved to be caught and brought to trial for his crimes. My God
...
a traitor, a spy, a murderer, a
smuggler, a rapist. . .

She crushed the blossom in her fingers and threw it
out the window.

Why should she feel as if she were betraying him? She
was the one who had been betrayed—physically and emotionally. Glasse had sensed
she was lying tonight, hiding something; she could see it in the ferret eyes.
Bennett had known it, too, just as he knew there was more to the story of her
time spent on the
Chimera.

Summer looked up suddenly and felt the two warm spots
rise in her cheeks.

"Bennett. You startled me. I did not hear the
door open."

He was just standing there in the shadows, his white
breeches and starched collar catching the dim light from the window.

"I'm sorry. I thought you would have heard my
boots. Why on earth are you sitting here in the dark?"

"I prefer it when. . .when I need to think.
Darkness and quiet—" She saw him walk over to the table. "Has
everyone left?"

"Aslop had the watch. Your father and the admiral
are introducing themselves to a bottle of rum."

She smiled dourly. "Meaning they will be tippled
by the early hours, and poor Wilkins will have to slide them both into
bed."

Bennett lifted the glass chimney from a lamp, fetched
a taper from the fireplace and touched it to the wick. It flared and smoked
greasily for a moment, then settled to an even flame. He waved the match out
slowly and replaced the chimney.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news," he said,
studying her face in the glow. "The admiral wants me to take the
Caledonia
out for her sea trials. He is
anxious to see the results of my changes."

"So soon? I mean
..."

He smiled briefly. "Not much of a honeymoon, was
it? And he does want us to leave as soon as possible."

"Of course. I understand." She reached for
another blossom. "When will you be sailing?"

He watched the movement of her arm, the slight swell
where her breasts pushed on the shimmery satin dressing gown. "If I truly
drove the men hard we could be ready within the week"—his eyes rose to her
face—"but I told him we couldn't possibly leave before the end of
two."

"How long will you be away?"

He took a deep breath.
"Several weeks. A month perhaps."

"Oh."

"I'm glad you sound disappointed; it makes me
feel a little better."

"Of course I'm disappointed," she said and
quickly lowered her lashes. "I'm only just getting used to being called
Mrs. Winfield after a week.
...
I
should have liked a year or two before I had to start explaining where my
husband has gone."

"Your father will see that you are kept
busy." His face was out of the lamplight, and Summer could not clearly see
his expression. "You looked troubled when I came in. Has Farley Glasse
upset you that much?"

"No." She sighed, after a moment. "Not
really. I suppose I have been expecting something like that to happen. It just
caught me by surprise, that's all."

"You stood your ground well enough. And while I
might not admit it in front of the admiral or Sir Lionel, you were justified in
defying the man. His type are graced with too much power and not enough sense
of how to use it. Mind you, I'd also have to concur with the admiral: Glasse
will make a formidable enemy."

"I am not a threat to him."

"Not personally, but your politics are."

"Politics? I have no politics."

"You defended Morgan Wade. He is an American
privateer, one who causes us all unnecessary aggravation. By defending him, you
as much as openly denounce our own policies."

She rounded on him. "I was merely defending the
right for any man to have justice and a fair trial. Glasse has condemned him
without any pretense of offering either."

"Wade hardly deserves applause or sympathy. He is
a spy and a murderer."

"There is no proof of either charge, only
speculation. Glasse's speculation."

"How much proof do you need?" Bennett asked
coldly. "He sells guns and information to our enemies and hides behind an
American flag. He is a man without any loyalties at all. To
anyone
or
anything.
And furthermore"—he
pulled his coattails forward and sat on the vacant half of the window
seat—"I do not intend to sit here and argue with you about the merits of a
Yankee privateer. . . not with the moonlight doing such wonderful things to
your eyes and your hair. . . ." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to
her temple.

"Then you are not angry with me?" she
whispered. "You are not going to tell me I behaved childishly or
unthinkingly?"

"Testily, perhaps. Not childishly." His hand
traced a line down her cheek and toyed with a silvery ringlet.

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

"No harm done." He paused and added on a
quieter note, "However, I do wish you had told me about the
Northgate
sooner. It could have saved us
both an awkward moment or two."

"Yes, I suppose so. I thought perhaps Michael
would have mentioned it to you; you seem to spend so much time together."

"He never speaks of anything that happened,"
Bennett murmured, and his hand brushed aside the hair trailing over her
shoulder. "In fact, I don't think your brother approves of me
overmuch."

"Michael? How can you say that? He is forever
badgering you with questions."

Her husband smiled. "About ships and armaments
and naval strategies, he is indeed full of questions—and amazing theories. But
when it comes time for answers, he becomes remarkably shy.
 
Not unlike his sister, whom he dotes
upon."

Summer straightened slightly, trying not to tense
against the feel of Bennett's fingers where they traced lower along her neck.
"I'm sure you will win him over. He has only had Father to keep him
company for the past four years, and"—she closed her eyes. Bennett's lips
had replaced his fingers, moving leisurely along the curve of her
throat—"and he really has
...
no
one. . . ."

She could feel his breath warming the expanse of her
throat, spreading the tingle down her arms and into her chest. She knew he felt
it as well, and his hand came up and tucked beneath her chin, tilting her lips
up to meet his. Her mouth was soft and moist and willing, and he explored it
thoroughly. The breath halted in her throat, and she swayed against him; her
hands moved up to his shoulders, and she gave herself into the circle of his
arms, returning his kiss with a sigh.

Bennett abandoned her mouth and lowered his head,
following the deep plunge of her dressing gown down to the invitingly fragrant
cleft between her breasts. She ran her fingers into the wheat-colored hair,
forcing herself to relax as he worked the ribbons of the bodice loose and sent
his hand and mouth searching beneath the satin.

Summer watched the nuzzling blond head, the greedy
suckling lips and tongue, and she smiled as the heat began to wash into her
like waves of golden honey. Everything was going to be all right; she knew it
was. She was married to a man who loved her; she was married to a man she had
true affection for. She tightened her hands and pressed into him, feeling her
skin constrict with pleasure.

Bennett carried her into the adjoining bedroom and set
her on the deep feather bed. He stepped back to loosen and discard his own
clothes—slowly, methodically draping his tunic and shirt, breeches, stockings
and drawers over the arms of a chair. His body was pale and cool to the touch;
his chest was hairless and sculpted into bands of lean, smooth muscle.

He covered her with tiny nibbling kisses and murmured
her name once before settling himself between her thighs. Summer sighed, and
her arms went around him.

This was the way it was meant to be. A place for quiet
loving tenderness, not a battleground of clashing wills. Bennett was here, he
was her husband, and she wanted to love him.

She trembled as his hands circled her waist. She
whimpered softly and rose against the stabs of pleasure using her hands, her
hips to urge him closer, deeper. She gasped and strained upward . . . but the
slow stretching promise of release was simply not there. There was no growing
wave of passion, no sweet ache of his body joining to hers. A response was
barely being touched on when he grunted and pushed a final time, his entire
body stiffening against the violent surge of ecstasy. He groaned and heaved the
air from his lungs, collapsing heavily on top of Summer as she choked back a
cry of disappointment.

She bit down on her lips, shutting her eyes against
the memory of jet black hair and massive rippling shoulders. She felt Bennett
stir, and she relaxed her arms and legs from around his body, enough that he
could prop himself on his elbows and gaze down at her.