Face to Face (The Deverell Series Book 2) (25 page)

She nodded, unable to speak through the tightening of her throat. He tapped her nose. “Now off with you. You have wasted enough of my day.”

Varian was staring at her strangely as they went into the hall. He asked, “What was that all about, Merry? Why are you crying?”

Merry brushed away her tears and smiled. “There is nothing for you to be concerned with, sir. We were only chatting and he did not offend me in any way. He was a perfect gentleman. You can trust, Jean. He is a good man.”

~~~

They spent their last hours on Barataria with a picnic in a green pasture meadow. It dipped toward a deserted inlet of the beach, far from view of anyone. Brilliant colored birds fluttered above them in the lush arch of moss dripping tree limbs, and Merry lay atop a blanket, curled into Varian’s chest.

They were both in a quiet mood. Things were easier here. Away from the crew, there was no need for caution. He could love her freely. Merry could do nothing less, in any breath, than love freely. The return to ship with her would be both a blessing and a curse for Varian.

Varian studied her face, remembering her struggles with him as Morgan, and the ship in the days before they had left for this adventure. He wondered what awaited him once they returned to sea. She was so young. He asked too much from her. He had taken too much from her, as well.

Symbolic gesture, of sorts, but he found himself lying there, taking tiny sections of her long curls and gently tying them around his fingers. The dark tresses were streaming like a web around them both, and he had tied her to him so thoroughly she could not get free.

Merry rolled until she was on top of Varian. She was certain he was unaware of what had slipped into his eyes and what he told her with the unconscious acts of his hands. She wondered what her own expression bespoke, since the same driving need to lose herself in him moved in possession of her, as well. She did not feel as though she could get close enough to him. That she could be in possession of him, as much as she longed to.

She watched as he tied another strand of her hair to him. Yes, she understood what he was feeling. It moved in her as well. She touched his neck with her lips. “Lay with me.”

When Varian looked up, his eyes were darker than midnight. She had surprised him. “Here? Now?”

“Yes. Here. Now. You may have tied me to you, sir, but right now it is time for you to be captive of me.”

~~~

The warm afternoon sun touched Merry’s cheeks as they walked to the docks. A sudden sound caught her attention. It was pug, yapping from the decks of the
Corinthian
. Then her dog scampered in a flurry of slipping paws down the damp plank to them.

Of course, the miserable beast went to Varian first, yapping and springing at his feet. Of course, the man ignored him. In a moment, pug was across the dirt and into Merry’s arms, lapping affectionately at her face.

“Oh, will you stop it you ridiculous dog,” she laughed, struggling to keep hold of the fidgeting pug. Her mirth-sparkling eyes lifted to Varian as she straightened up from the ground. “Ah, I think we’ve been missed. I don’t think we should leave him in Mr. Craven’s care again.”

Both her sparkle and smile vanished. The look in Varian’s eyes was dismissive. Without a word, he turned and continued up the plank.

The noise around her from the docks came as a jolting intrusion. The crew of the
Corinthian
was amassed on her decks since they were making ready to sail, and she could hear Tom Craven’s acidic voice harshly barking orders. Varian’s behavior came as an ugly omen of the change in Merry’s circumstance with the return to ship. It shot through her that the pleasant hours in the meadow were gone, that they were back in a less genial condition, and effortlessly he would reduce her to a meaningless thing when necessity required it.

Varian was Morgan again, and having not been above decks with him since she’d become his lover, she had not realized his guise would encompass them. Quite clearly it did.

From where Merry stood, the
Corinthian
appeared no longer an innocuous vessel, but a creature she looked at with real loathing. Light-headed with pain, she dropped the pug and he chased back up the plank toward Varian.

By the time her dainty slippers touched her wooded world, Varian was busy in the active command of his crew. She stood beneath the mast, absently smiling at a man here or there who she considered agreeable elements among the crew.

Not one gave her notice or acknowledged her. Not Indy, Shay, Mr. Seton, Mr. Boniface, or Mr. Colerain. Dismissed by the Captain, she was dismissed by them. In all moments, she would only be what Varian wished in his world at sea.

She was about to cross the deck to the hatchway, wanting the privacy of below decks, when Varian’s icy voice checked her. Mid-way through a sentence, he turned to Tom Craven, tossed him Merry’s bag, and then ordered, “Take her below and lock her in my cabin.”

Then, with his expression sealed, he looked away. His eyes did not linger on her, though she tried to hold his gaze, and soon he was in deep discussion with Mr. Seton. Catching his face in those moments, she found it hard to believe she had ever seen laughter or tenderness there.

Humiliated and angry, she stood in the ensuing silence the victim of Mr. Craven’s deep, dull-set eyes. He stared at her in an unkindly way, impatient for her to follow, and when Merry made move toward the hatchway, he went briskly ahead of her below deck.

She had almost disappeared from the harshly glaring brightness of the day, when Merry heard from behind, “For Christ’s sake, take that miserable mutt with you or I’ll kick it over the rail.”

She ignored the words and her threatening tears until she was safely into the cabin. Crossing the Persian rug to the stern gallery, she anxiously waited for Mr. Craven to leave. The tears were battling upward and so was her fury. The quiet of the cabin surrounded her as a grossly unpleasant thing, and she could feel Mr. Craven’s hulking presence behind her. She stayed fixed, staring out the stern windows.

Be gone, you wretched old man. Be gone.

Fighting to hold onto the last of her composure, she did not expected to hear Tom’s soft whisper inquire, “Are you all right? Is there anything you need?”

Humiliation complete. Kindness from Mr. Craven. Whirling to face him, she snapped, “Of course I’m fine. Get out of here.” And when he didn’t move promptly, she took off her shoe and threw it at him.

Alone in the cabin, she gave in to both her tears and her anger. She spent most of the afternoon in Varian’s chair, cursing him in her head. She saw him only once that day, with Mr. Seton in tow. He said not a word to her and Mr. Seton’s presence provided no opportunity for her to rail at him. He left the cabin as quickly as he’d entered it.

The change in motion of the ship told Merry they were back to sea. After dusk, Indy brought her a dinner tray. He set out the meal and left without a word to her. As the cabin door snapped shut behind him, she realized the boy had ignored her tears. A change in the state of her relationship with Indy. She had wanted to be no longer a source of conflict between the boy and Varian, but now that she sat bathed in his diminished willingness to be involved in her affairs, she regretted it. It was clear to her she had made another mistake. The boy’s friendship was something she had come to depend upon. Often times, he was her only friend here.

The night grew long as the hours passed slowly. When it became clear Varian would not join her soon, she changed into a nightgown and climbed into his bed. Sleep proved elusive and so did the quelling of her temper. If Varian expected her to tolerate his callous treatment in the presence of the crew, then Varian had much thought to correct. That fiction was one he had better do away with quickly.

Wrapped tightly in his blankets, held in the darkness of the cabin, she started when the cabin door opened, then softly clicked closed. It was Varian, at long last, near the wee hours of the morning. She grabbed the first thing her fingers brushed, and threw it fiercely at him.

He struck a match to candle and then a soft glow lit the cabin. The delicate ceramic jar of powder had crashed into the red oak door, sending a wash of white over him and the cabin floor. His thorough, efficient stare did a fast sweep over her. No response. He tugged on his shirt to remove the powder there. Both gestures were a deliberate pause, a suspended moment in the middle of battle, he used so effectively.

Then he said blandly, “Tom warned me you were in a foul mood.” He leaned down to retrieve bits and pieces of broken glass.

His calmness enraged her. She was on her feet in an instant, screaming the words so loudly he was sure it was heard all through the decks. “Don’t you ever treat me that way again.”

“I treated you no way at all.” He put the broken pieces of the jar on the table and turned toward her. Varian stared at her. “You need to learn to control your temper, Little One. I can’t have you throwing things at me every time you are unhappy. It would benefit us both well if you would learn caution and how to behave reasonably.”

It had been the wrong thing to say. Merry’s eyes anxiously searched his face, didn’t find what she wanted to see, and then instantly clouded with dismay. Now on top of her temper, there were tears. “You treated me like a whore. I will not be treated that way, in a manner dismissive, as though I am nothing here.”

He stood as he was, his expression unreadable. “I did no such thing.”

“That is exactly what you did,” she accused. “Tossing my bag to Tom Craven. Locking me in here. Walking away from me, with a curt warning to grab the dog. I will not be treated like a whore. Not for any man. Not even for you.”

The circumstances were so much harder for her, he thought, closing his eyes against the bitter pain of her anguish and fury.

“Merry, it would serve neither of us well if the crew knew how much you mean to me. A captain cannot have weakness or vulnerability. It would be dangerous to you if I paraded my feelings before the crew. As distasteful as it is for you, it is necessity. Surely you see that, Little One.”

“Morgan can’t have weakness. That’s what you mean.” She bellowed this time. “Morgan can go to the devil, for all I care. If all I am to you is a weakness, then I will go. I will not stay with you here.”

It amused him Merry still thought she could leave him. The act of leaving him would change nothing. Married or not, she was tied to him as though their union had been blessed by every church in England. And it was past time for her to accept that. He could not always be only what she wished him to be. Even he was not free to be only what he wished to be.

An arched brow and a calm voice. “You may leave my ship whenever you wish,” he told her. “I gave you my word. It is so.”

He was tired or he would have never said that. It was cruel and turned Merry into a madwoman. She tried to kick him. To bite him. He grabbed her gently, managing to stay clear of her flailing limbs, and picked her up. He laid her across the bed, keeping careful hold of her fighting limbs. He was beside her, at an angle, and they were both breathing heavily.

Merry slowly stopped her struggle, her temper and tears bit by bit draining from her. “Then the next port we reach, I will leave and you had best not try to stop me or I’ll...” She could not finish. Panting beneath him, she tried to steady her unsteady heart and emotions.

He gave her a moment to quiet, as he wiped her face with gentle swipes of his fingers, but her tears started again. “I cannot be only what you wish me to be, Merry,” he told her. “What did you think? That dangers of being on ship would magically disappear? That Morgan would magically disappear?”

Of course, now that he had said it, it sounded foolish. Stubbornly, she countered, “No, but I did not expect it to be so awful. You are a different man when you are Morgan. I do not like him, not at all.”

Varian half laughed. He made a tender look of sympathy for her. “There is only one man here, Merry. Me. You, better than anyone, should know that.” He kissed her lightly on the nose. That she let him was a good sign. “What is it you want, Merry? Do you really wish to leave me?”

Her breaths were harsh little spurts, and reluctantly she admitted, “No, but I will not suffer Morgan a moment more than necessary. I want your word when you are with me, there is no Morgan, there is no ship. Only Varian. If you can’t manage that, then I will not stay.”

He sat up, leaning on his elbows to stare at her. “That’s all that there had ever been, Little One.” His lips touched gently on her neck. “Only the man who wanted you.” His kisses moved to soft flesh of her collar bone. “Only the man who waited for you.” His mouth dipped lower, over the rosy tip of her lace covered breast. “Only the man who adores you.”

She stared at him, lips parted. Varian felt the change in her that came swiftly. Her temper was a wonderful aphrodisiac. A wonderful stirring of passion that chased at the heels of her fury. Her voice was mostly air. “Tell me again.”

“There is no other man,” he whispered, into her fragrant hair. His mouth moved to her neck, placing kisses there. “There is only Varian.”

“When you step through that door, you will not be Morgan. Not with me. Not ever. You will only be my lover here.” She opened her arms for him. “And since you are Varian lay with me.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

A week later, Merry learned the
Corinthian
was on its way back to Bermuda. This she had learned from eavesdropping on a conversation between Indy and Mr. Craven. When she made a passing inquiry to Varian as to why they were making port in the headquarters of the British Admiralty again, he’d simply ignored the question and changed the subject.

A strange feeling something significant was happening aboard ship surrounded her in the passing days. There was a tension on the decks she had not felt since back when the crew had wanted a vote on her. Varian was meeting more regularly with his senior officers. His inner circle had increased to include Mr. Colerain, and a strange, bookish looking man she hadn’t noticed before, Mr. Alcott. The meetings were frequent, never in the Captain’s cabin, and often went into the dead of night. There was definitely something going on he was not share with her.