Jennifer Horseman (22 page)

He imagined banishing those worried lines as he took her lips beneath his. Softer and sweeter than a child's dreams, he remembered her first shocked yielding to his kiss, the agony and confusion its pleasure brought her. Aye, but the only thing greater than his desire was his need to protect her, he kept having to remind himself. . . .

To her relief, Garrett turned away suddenly. He moved to the bed where he began removing his boots. Tonali leaped to the place he slept on top of the bookshelves and the bed light was extinguished.

The tension he brought her! She dropped the quill, breathing deeply and far too quickly, as if she had just run. She turned back to the letter, reread her own words and with a small agonized gasp she crumpled the paper and tossed it into the waste basket.

She just couldn't do it! Every time she began to relate the events it seemed as if she was writing one of those dreadful penny novels: My History on Board the Famous Pirate Ship The Raven: Part One—"How my identity was mistaken for that of my evil cousin, and of my abduction and terror." Dear Lord, why, oh why, did this have to happen to her? Oh Tomas, what will you think of me? She put out the lamp and quietly moved to the hammock, her thoughts traveling in circles like a dog chasing its tail, until, as she lay down on the hammock, she asked herself again: what if all she said to Tomas was that 'twas a terrible mistake, and that once Garrett discovered his mistake, she had been safe and well? What if she never told him? Would he know when he married her?

"Garrett?"

The sound of his name in the darkness surprised him. "Yes? What, love?"

"That night . . . How did you know I wasn't Clarissa? I mean . . . exactly?"

How did he know she wasn't Clarissa?

"What?" he questioned out loud, rising on an elbow to peer at her through the darkness. The soft whisper of her voice was filled with fear or trepidation, and he could not guess why until—

"I mean . . . well, men don't always know, do they?"

She might have easier asked straight out if Tomas would know she wasn't a virgin, though it took Garrett several long moments to believe it. Juliet didn't understand the silence until she heard a low hissing sound from the top bookshelf, Tonali warning her of the effect of her question before she heard his reply.

"Listen carefully, love," he said in a voice tense with control, as he swung his long legs over the side of the bed, not trusting himself to move an inch more. "You will not mention him to me again. You will especially take care never to be so daft again as to put the picture in my mind of you in his bed. Because, love," he stood up, "you have just discovered one of the precious few things in this world that can incite me to violence."

He moved to the door and left, slamming it behind him. Shocked by this, Juliet froze, her mind turning over a dozen times in the instant. How could he say that? As if he owned her, as if she belonged to him? After all he had done, with some absurd pretense of protecting her, somehow he had the idea that he owns her!

The thought brought equal parts confusion, fear, and anger in a potent and maddening mix, and it took over an hour before she finally saw she had no hope but to escape. That night escape became imperative; somehow she had to do it. Without means or money, she would risk her life to escape him and find her way back to Tomas. No one, not even Garrett, could keep her separated from him . . . and she would show him that.

A commotion sounded on deck, rousing her. Juliet opened her eyes to see the light of a midday sun. She looked around the quiet empty room, wondering if he had returned at all in the night, then wondering why she cared. She hurriedly went about bathing. Her hands trembled with an effort to control her emotions, emotions raw and confused and so sorely tried. "I won't let you do this to me Garrett. ... I won't."

The conviction sang in her mind all day, even as later that afternoon she carefully folded the crisp white pages of the letter. She took the small stick of wax, lit it with a candle flame and let the bright red wax drip into Gar-rett's seal just as Gayle entered with tea. The young man made a brief study of her before setting the tray down at the table. "You're done, I see."

Juliet made no comment, ignoring him still. She had not spoken a word all day, at least to him, which was a good deal less than had Garrett. Garrett had his tempers, but they normally passed like the gusts of a clean strong wind. Normally Garrett forgave offenses and misadventures easily, weighing the circumstances and the great blanket of human frailty. It was also true that, more than almost anyone else, Garrett remained maddeningly unconcerned about things he could not change, wind and weather and all acts of the almighty hand of fate. Not today. As the ship slowly approached the rendezvous point, an unnamed, uninhabited isle off Sardinia, Garrett snapped orders as if the ship were sailing into battle, blasting the men for every small mishap on deck, carrying on for nearly a half hour over the rigging of the sails beneath the nearly dead wind.

Gayle had no idea what had happened behind these closed doors, but something had, a very unpleasant something. "Anything else, Juliet?"

The letter was finished now but the effort had cost her much. It hurt, it hurt so badly, she felt ... she felt mad with it, as if she was losing her sanity beneath Garrett's hold on her and her helplessness to do anything about it . . . helpless until she found a chance to escape, and how long would that be?

The idea brought a sudden fear. "Wait," she stopped him with a whisper at the door. He turned back around, arms folded impatiently at his chest. "Gayle .... Gar-rett truly intends to send my letter to Tomas? He wasn't just saying so?"

"Look, about your young man, if it were up to me—" Booted steps sounded outside, stopping Gayle midsen-tence. Leif followed Garrett inside, stopping their conversation, too, as they overheard this last. As always, the room shrank dramatically with the sheer masculine presence of the two men. Garrett looked a sight in his sun-washed white breeches, white cotton vest, and thick black belt. He wore nothing else, standing bootless, his long hair falling loose to his shoulders. The tension was tangible, and yet save for the cruel amusement in his eyes, Garrett ignored Juliet as he crossed the space to the cupboards that contained the maps in back.

Unlike Garrett, Leif did not ignore them. He examined the two younger people as he combed his neat red beard with one hand, the other hand on his hip. With his own long hair pulled to a tight braid in back, he wore finely tailored brown breeches, moccasin boots, and a white silk shirt open nearly to the waist. He too looked every bit as frightening as the first time she had seen him, for an inexplicable anger shone in his eyes as he demanded of Gayle, "Yes, Gayle? Tell Juliet what my son would do to her young man if it were up to him?"

Juliet tensed as Gayle looked crossly at his father, undaunted, though obviously reluctant to obey. Despite the potion and the blow to Tomas, Gayle treated her only with kindness and unmasked sympathy, sympathy she assumed rose from Garrett's mistreatment of her. She waited to hear him speak in her defense, certain he would.

"What good would it do?" he questioned.

Leif s gaze narrowed a fraction and he said simply: "It would show her that Garrett is far more merciful than most men."

Emotions shimmered in her eyes as she waited for Gayle to deny this last. Gayle leveled his gaze at her, hating to hurt her anymore but supposing his father was right. "He's right, Juliet. After seeing your marks, I would have shot him."

The surprising blow felt like a blade through her heart. She stared for a long moment as her eyes filled with outrage, indignation, and finally fury. She swung around, unwilling to dignify a word of the exchange with a single word of her own. The tension built in the silence until Garrett sounded a series of orders to Gayle. "Have Pots bring up the best wines and cognacs. Get, ah, Craig or Michael in the mast and make sure I hear when the longshore boat's sighted. When it is, come to escort Juliet out. I don't want a single pair of eyes to fall on her. And oh, tell Heart he can start rotating those who want to fish in groups of five. And no goddamn exceptions to the rules this time."

Gayle left with a solemn "Aye aye, sir," and Leif turned to where Garrett had arranged maps on the table. A heated debate followed concerning the risk involved in Algiers, nothing she could understand, even if she could manage to hear a word over the fury pounding her temples, a fury fueling the unnatural pace of her heart and pulse. She paced back and forth until she finally flung herself on the bed.

They didn't know anything! Anything! He was not good enough to mention Tomas's name, yet alone accuse him of neglecting her circumstances, blaming him for her uncle's wickedness like that! Tomas would have done anything to help her, anything in the world, but there was no fighting the man her uncle had been. Tomas cried over her marks ... he had cried, it hurt him so badly to see it! Tbmas was only goodness and kindness and gentleness, attributes Garrett couldn't even recognize, yet alone ever hope to aspire to!

He had no right! Who did he think he was? He was the one who was hurting her. And hurting people was his business. He was a world famous sea criminal, a man deserving of hanging! Yet he had the unprecedented gall to pass judgment on Tomas! Tomas, who never hurt another living soul, who —

"I only pray you are right, Garrett," Leif said to the other, heading for the door.

"We shall see what news the admiral brings. Yet I have the feeling events will start unfolding fast." "Too fast, if my years of experience with you are a measure."

Garrett chuckled at that as Leif shut the door. He remained at the table, making a study of the maps for some time until he looked up to see Juliet sitting on the bed, staring at him, fury shining in her eyes. "Easy, love," he warned, forcing himself to look away. "I'm in no mood to see your temper now. I'm still trying to recover from mine last night."

She almost lost control. Her hands trembled with an effort to control a base fury,.one she would not condescend to give voice to, no matter what he did to provoke her. She had to have a distraction. Not knowing what else to do, she rose, disappearing into the darkened space of the dressing room to emerge with a brush in hand. She sat down on the bed, removed the heavy robe and began unwinding her braids. Once done, she put a brush to them with the vigorous strokes a maid put to beating a rug. Seeing her thus occupied, Garrett's gaze returned again to his papers. Yet an amused light in his eyes told her he was fully aware of her struggle. That did it! She raised the brush and with fair aim she flung it hard at his face.

Garrett looked up while simultaneously reaching out to catch the brush in midair. He set it lightly on the table. The most maddening thing she ever witnessed was the speed of his reflexes. With a pained gasp, she threw herself against the pillows. "I can't bear it! I can't! You have no right to do this to me! You especially have no right to pass a single judgment on Tomas, yet alone make these horrid insinuations about his neglect of me when all I ever knew from him was a gentle hand, concern, decency! Decency you don't even know, yet alone have! He has more moral fortitude in the small of his finger than you'll ever have in the whole of your life." Tears misted in her eyes, momentarily blinding her as Garrett came over to the bed. "You're not fit to say his name! Do you hear me? When I think that it's you who has hurt me, you who have terrorized and threatened me, you took my virginity by force when I belong to him by marriage—"

She stopped as he leaned over her, his long arms braced on either side of her shoulders, staring down at the maddening sight of her like that, taking in everything: the blue satin rope beneath the flaming dark silk of her hair, her thin arms raised over her head, the white silk of the night dress doing blessedly nothing to hide the slender curves beneath, the bright fury mixed with tears in her eyes as she returned his gaze, far too furious to be afraid.

"Aye, love, I am laughing at you. For the part of your child's tantrum that is truly amusing is this idea that the reason I got here first has anything to do with a difference in moral character. Because, love," his eyes were wild with the humor he saw in this, "the only reason I got your innocence before he did has to do with a piece of a man's flesh and the ability to use it."

The second she understood the meaning of the insult she raised her arm and landed a hard slap to his face. "I hate you!" Pain shot up her arm from the impact but she never felt it. Instead, every nerve in her body ignited with the long wait for his response. When it came, it came with a low chuckle as he rubbed the side of his face. "Love," he said as his hands came over her raised arms, keeping them pinned to the bed as he brought his full weight over her, "you are a fool if you think this has anything to do with hate."

Like a blinding, white-hot crack of lightning, naked rage burst through her as he lowered his mouth to hers. His kiss had nothing to do with gentleness and everything to do with the unleashed force of his desire. Raging emotions rose in her to fight him, the devastating force of it, him, this kiss. She tried desperately to twist her mouth free. He'd have no resistance now, and with mockery and amusement both he held her still, encompassing the hot surge of her fury by deepening the kiss until her warring emotions ignited into a surge of passion, a soaring sensation that sent the world into a spinning carousel of dizzying sensations. . . .

And he wanted more. The kiss changed as he molded her mouth to his, teasing her with the skillful play of his tongue, moving in tantalizing slowness over every height and hollow. The kiss fueled the thick, hot pleasure spilling into her. Her denial sounded weak and meaningless against the hammering of her heart and the blood pounding in her ears.

The kiss broke, offering a brief respite as he caught her lower lip gently in his mouth, kneading its soft resiliency as she drew shaky gasps of breath. He was saying her name, whispering, stopping only to caress her lips as his hand brushed over her side, lingering with maddening familiarity over her most sensitive spots. She braced, confused and waiting for a single coherent defense to rally through the chaos reigning in her body. His hand stopped just beneath her breast, allowing anticipation and heat to build until the tension made her twist and utter a soft joyless cry. This won a warm chuckle from him as he slipped his hand under the thin silk and over her breast, where he gently caressed the flattened mound.