Lavender Lies (Historical Romance) (25 page)

Their bodies fused together, seeking and finding paradise. He knew the places to touch that would bring her the greatest pleasure. Lavender scaled the heights as his movements sent blood pounding in her brain. His lips nipped at her mouth, circled her swollen globes, teased and tantalized her nipples.

By the time he hovered above her and moved her legs apart, she was oblivious to everything but the feel of his body, his hands, his mouth. An urgency was building inside Lavender, and her body became one with him. Her hands moved slowly up his waist, to his back, and she felt the bandage that covered his wounds. She turned her lips away from his kiss.

"Julian, your back. I don't think that—*

His breath was hot against her lips. "Don't think," he whispered. "Just feel."

When he entered her arching, throbbing body, she held him tightly to her, loving him with her whole being. Julian, mindful of his child that was growing in her body, was gentle.

Pleasure mounted within Lavender when she felt him penetrate deeper within her. With wild abandonment, she felt that she was indeed his wife. They were one person, one heartbeat, one life. As Julian set the rhythm, Lavender followed his lead. Each was acutely aware of the other, each wanted to give of themselves, as well as take from the other.

"Sweet Lavender," he murmured.

Like a drumbeat in her mind, her body palpitated and arched with each thrust he made. Wonderful, intoxicating pressure was building higher and higher, sweeping the two of them along in a tide of rapturous sensations.

"You belong to me—" he breathed. "No one else will ever hold you as I now do, Lavender."

Yes, she thought, as her body and his scaled the final heights of pleasure with a shuddering release. Yes, she belonged to him body and soul

As their overheated bodies cooled, they rested in each other's arms, their eyes closed, caught in the lingering wonder of what had happened between the two of them. It was such a beautiful, fragile thing between them, yet no words could describe how they felt.

Her fingers gently touched his back, and she opened her eyes to find those wonderful brown eyes looking back at her with an expression so soft it took her breath away. "Did I hurt your back?" she asked in worried concern.

Her glorious hair was tumbled about her, and he feasted his eyes on her loveliness. "No, but I believe it is I who should ask if I hurt you."

"No, you did not."

His hand slid down to her stomach, where his baby was nestled. He was so overcome with tenderness that he was afraid to speak, for fear that his voice give him away.

Suddenly her mischievous smile broke the spell that bound them. "Do I please you, Your Grace?"

His mouth smoothed into a smile. "Indeed, Your Grace, you please me very much." For just a moment, Julian saw a vision of his brother's face, but it quickly faded. He rolled Lavender over on her side and hugged her to him. "I do not believe we will be expected on deck. Suppose we spend the rest of the day alone in bed?'

Lavender snuggled up to Julian with happiness shining in her eyes and hope in her heart. Perhaps it was possible for her and Julian to have a life together after all.

The creaking of the ship and an occasional voice on deck calling out an order was all that could be heard against the pounding of Lavender's heart. When Julian's lips again covered hers, she sighed contentedly. There was nowhere in the world that she would rather be at the moment, she thought.

Julian's thoughts were very different. He knew it was useless for him to try to resist this little seductress. As he breathed her name, he gave in to the passion that rocked his whole body. He would not be betraying his brother if he took from Lavender. No, he would take everything she had, and leave her with nothing in the end, he vowed, just as his body came alive with desire such as he had never before known.

17

Lavender knew that every passing day brought the
Monarch
closer to England and farther away from America, the land she loved. She was existing in a dream world, where Julian wore two faces. At night he would be gentle and loving, but in the daytime he was cold and indifferent, spending most of his time on deck with the captain.

It seemed to her that the closer to England they got, the more brooding Julian became. She could see his torment and knew she was the cause of it. If only she could make him laugh and not take life so seriously. Evidently the two of them had played their part of the loving couple well, because everyone on board the
Monarch
thought of the duke and his duchess as a love match. No one could have known about the agreement Julian had extracted from Lavender to play the devoted wife while in the company of others, and no one would have guessed at the tension that existed between them.

*                                          *                                          *

It was early evening and a blustery wind rattled the sails of the frigate
Monarch
as she appeared to slice her way through the white-capped waves. It was one of the rare occasions when Lavender was on deck alone. She had grown restless in her cabin and had come up for a breath of fresh air.

As she stood at the rail, she heard the strum of a guitar, and several voices were raised in song just beyond the point where the longboats were battened down. Drawn to the music and unmindful of the consequences, she walked across the deck.

She found a dozen sailors sitting on the deck, their voices raised in an old Irish ballad. When they saw the young duchess, they fell silent and scampered respectfully to their feet.

"Pray do not stop," Lavender urged. "I love to listen to music."

The crew glanced at each other, no one willing to be the first to raise his voice in song. Lavender realized she was making the men uncomfortable with her presence, and was about to move away, when her eyes fell on the little redheaded man who held the guitar.

"What is your name?" she inquired.

"I be Oliver Pitkin, Your Grace," he answered, his eyes dancing with pleasure since he alone had been singled out by the duchess.

"Well, Mr. Pitkin, I have not heard music in a very long time. Would you please play something for me," she urged. "I admire Irish ballads."

At that moment, Oliver Pitkin would have attempted to walk on water if the lovely duchess had asked it of him. His calloused hands, that were more accustomed to fighting against the wind to unfurl the sails or to scrubbing the decks with the bricklike holystone, touched the strings and brought forth a beautiful sound.

Timidly at first, the crew members began to sing, then, gaining more courage, they were soon in a festive mood and the voices blended above the loud thundering sound of the waves crashing against the ship's hull.

Before Lavender realized what she was doing, and unable to resist the urge to lift her voice in song, she joined the singers. At first her voice could not be heard above the louder male voices, but when she hit a high note, everyone fell silent. When Lavender, too, stopped singing, twelve pairs of eyes' beseeched her. "Please, Your Grace, sing for us," bold Oliver Pitkin begged. "We don't hardly ever get to hear a woman's voice."

Heedless of the consequences, Lavender began to sing a tune and her lovely husky voice held her audience spellbound. She was accompanied only by Pitkin's strumming guitar, and was encouraged by the adoration she saw on the men's faces.

My love, my dear, I have sailed away, for God, and King, and Country. Alas, my love, I’ve not long to live and beg for you to come to me.

Every sailor—from old salt to young recruit—stared at the lovely vision, and listened to the most beautiful voice they had ever heard. Her deep throaty voice invoked thoughts of loved ones in England, of dear faces they had not seen in over a year. Tears flowed unashamed down many a suntanned face. Soon Lavender's voice carried to other parts of the ship, and sailors dropped whatever they were doing to migrate topside to hear the duchess sing.

Julian was sitting in the galley, drinking brandy with the captain, when the first clear sound came to him. He tensed, as it became clear to him that his wife was singing.

"My God," Captain Foster started with wonder. "Do I hear the voice of an angel, or have I been too long at sea and am I just hallucinating?"

Julian rose angrily to his feet, and in long strides left the galley, heading for the deck! How well he remembered that voice. It reminded him of the night of Cornwallis's gala, when he had first seen the Swallow.

Lavender, unknowing that she had incurred her husband's anger, put all her feelings into the song. She was surrounded by adoring devotees, who were so caught up in her magic they did not see the duke as he stormed down the deck, anger directing every step he took.

The haunting refrain of Lavender's song filled the very air and warmed the hearts of all who were in hearing distance, save one. Her husband's heart was not touched. His anger reached a new zenith as he saw her surrounded by more than two dozen seamen, whom he had to push aside to get to her.

My love, my love, if I should die without your hand to soothe me. Then dearest one I’ll await the time when death will also choose thee—

Lavender was startled when she felt herself being jerked around and she stared into Julian's eyes and saw the fury clearly burning in his eyes. As he pulled her against him, he hissed in her ear. "You have made an exhibition of yourself, madame."

Lavender realized what her folly must look like to him. She had acted without weighing the consequences. She saw pity in the eyes of the sailors, who quickly disbursed and hurried away. Her Grace had brought a moment of beauty into their lives, and they did not want to witness her humiliation.

Julian pulled her across the deck and down the companionway. When they were in the privacy of their cabin, he faced her with outrage written on every line of his face.

"Heretofore, you will remain in this cabin unless accompanied by me, Lavender. What you did was shameless and unbecoming to a duchess. I can only guess what the men on this ship think of your conduct."

Shame weighed heavily on her shoulders. "I just did not think—"

"No, and you never do, Lavender. I witnessed you toying with an audience at Cornwallis's gala, but I will not tolerate such actions in a wife. The Swallow is dead, Lavender, and I will never allow you to bring her back."

She raised her eyes to his. "I will apologize for my ?ad judgment tonight, but I was not playing the Swallow, I was just feeling homesick and the music seemed to draw me in. There was no hidden motive on my part, Julian. I was just being myself."

"The whore who employs her charms on the streets )f London is just being herself, Lavender," he retorted.

Now her anger was tapped. "How dare you imply hat I am . . . that I would . . . You are a monster!"

"I have often been called a monster, and on occasion even worse, but as my wife, there will not be the slightest hint of scandal attached to your behavior, Lavender. It is best you realize that I will take strong actions against such foolishness in the future. Do you think you can play with men's emotions and then walk away unscathed?"

"That was not my intention—"

"I think that you have played the seductress so long that you cannot do otherwise."

"I detest you," she cried, spinning away from him. "You do not own me, and I will not have you dictate my life."

"1 may not own you, but I own the baby you are carrying. Until you can behave in a manner befitting my wife, I will dictate your life. Is that understood?"

She tossed her head defiantly, and her golden hair swirled about her like a silken curtain. "No one, not even you, can dictate to me. I am not your servant, and I will never be your slave."

He caught his breath as her cold beauty tugged at his heart. Was he being overly harsh with her? he wondered. After all, she was young yet. Perhaps he should make allowances for her youth. What he wanted to do was take her in his arms and tell her about the jealousy that had burned in his heart when he witnessed the other men staring at her with such adoration. He cursed himself because of the weakness that, even now, drew him to her. He had to keep reminding himself that if it were not for her his brother would still be alive!

Lavender stood rigidly before Julian, wondering why she always displeased him. If she were a saint, he would still find fault with her. Was this what her life with Julian was going to be like from now on?

"As I said, Your Grace," her eyes were cold, her stance rigid, "I admit to making an error in judgment this evening, and I apologize for any embarrassment that I may have caused you, but I will not apologize for anything out of my past. You knew who I was when you married me. I have not changed, and do not expect me to."

His nerve endings were taut and his desire for her cooled, as resentment and anger took over his reasoning. "As long as I am your husband, you will obey me, Lavender."

He did not wait for her reply, but whirled around and stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

Lavender's bottom lip trembled, and she angrily brushed the tears away from her cheeks with her hand. Why did she have to love Julian? It would be so much easier to endure life with him if she detested him as she had claimed.

The
Monarch
mounted the waves, as if it had taken wings, then plunged downward to the crest of frothy white foam. The coast of England appeared to be a small gray mass in the distance. Lavender knew that soon Captain Foster would navigate a course that would take them up the Thames River to London, the heart of what she considered to be enemy territory.

Julian had brought Lavender on deck, and she stood wrapped in a thin cape, feeling chilled to the bone. As she often did, she questioned her right to be living a life of luxury in enemy territory when her countrymen were dying every day by British hands. She glanced up at the quarterdeck where Julian was conversing with Captain Foster, and wondered if she had a right to be idle when her people were enthralled in the miseries of war.

Suddenly the heaviness of reality descended on her, and she reeled under its impact. Lavender realized that once she stepped off this ship, she would be entirely at Julian's mercy. Even now, with this new rift between the two of them, Lavender knew if Julian held out his hand to her she would take it. Even their anger with each other had not managed to stem their passion when they were alone at night. At those times, Julian was always gentle, unlike the cold stranger he became with the rising of the sun. Lavender did not delude herself into believing he had any tender feelings for her. No, he was only concerned for the child she carried.

She set her jaw, thinking their lovemaking had probably been an amusing way for him to pass an otherwise tedious voyage, but to her, it had been her life.

With one last glimpse at the gray outline of the English shoreline, she walked across the deck. Going below to her cabin, she tried not to think about the life she left behind in America. But in spite of her resolve, a tear rolled down her cheek. She had been so blinded by love, she had given little thought to the anguish and pain her aunt Amelia and Chandler must be experiencing on her behalf. She missed Nicodemus and wished she could see him.

On entering the cabin, Lavender intended to pack her clothing in her trunks, but she discovered that Hendricks had already done that for her. She felt so useless now. It seemed her only purpose in life was to give birth to the next heir of Mannington.

When the cabin door opened, she quickly brushed her tears away and turned to face Julian. "How long will it be before we reach London?" she asked.

Sensing her troubled mood, he searched her face. "It depends on the wind." Suddenly he smiled, thinking he knew what was bothering her. "You do not have to be concerned about meeting my grandmother. She can be a fire-breathing dragon when she wants to be, but I have every hope that you will be an even match for her." He laughed and pulled Lavender into his arms. "I wager the two of you will get on quite well."

She moved out of his arms. "How soon will we get to Mannington?"

"Not for over a week. First we will spend a few days at my London townhouse, while waiting for the traveling coach from Mannington to come for us."

"Could you not hire a coach?"

He arched his eyebrow as if that was a novel thought. "Thank you, no. I had my fill of hired coaches in your country. I do not have to tolerate them in mine."

She stared at him wondering if he realized he had just drawn a line between the two of them by calling attention to her country and his country. Of course he knew it, she thought bitterly. They would always be separated by two different loyalties.

"Can we talk?" she asked, sitting on the bed and looking up at him with a soft blue gaze.

His smile was rakish. "I can think of something I would rather do in the few hours that remain before dinner."