Not Quite Married (20 page)

Agrippa, and she had felt it even there.

She knew the man inside him . . . the heart, the spirit, the soul of him. It was as if she recognized him without quite realizing it and it was that recognition that caused her to accept when he made his scandalous offer to spend two hours alone with her.

She knew him. Her eyes closed to allow her to concentrate on the pleasure of his kiss and on the response rising in her. Her arms wrapped around him and she opened to his kiss. A barrage of dizzying, exhilarating sensations blocked all thought except that required to appreciate the tendrils of heat curling down her throat and coiling lazily into the tips of her breasts.

She pressed harder against him, feeling almost giddy with relief that what she had dreaded was finally happening. Fear fell away and for a few splendid moments she was free and soaring, unfettered, discovering the dimensions of her own desire. This delicious contact with him opened in her a portal to possibilities.

There were so many lush and exotic new sensations to explore—

A sound from the hatchway startled them and they broke apart.

She stumbled back and gasped as Dyso thudded down the steps.

Stopping at the bottom, he studied them. His scarred face darkened and with two swift hand movements, he asked the questions.

“No, Dyso, I’m fine. The captain and I were just having a discussion,” she said firmly, hurrying to intercept him and lay her hands over his clenched fists. With another breath, she reclaimed her shattered composure. “We are about to have dinner.”

Both men noticed that her hand trembled as she pointed to the table. A heartbeat later, Jeannie and Mr. Hicks descended the steps, talking cheerily, and the tension dissolved in the serving of a meal.

It was several minutes before Brien could bring herself to look at Aaron. His expression was thoughtful and amicable, showing no trace of the self-assured taunt she might have expected. She blushed guiltily. She wanted to distrust him and resent him. But she couldn’t. The outer walls of her defenses had been scaled and breached.

She no longer had to dread giving in to temptation, only where giving in to that temptation would lead. By the end of the meal she realized she would have to see to it that she was never alone with him. The danger of lasting consequences from a night’s encounter were too great to risk—even for the pleasure she would find in his arms.

It was dark when she and Jeannie followed Dyso on deck for a breath of air before retiring to their cabins. They had eaten too well and imbibed too much wine. Brien felt overheated and restless and was relieved to find that Aaron had retired earlier to his cabin to study his navigational charts.

The wind had a dampness to it as the clouds darted past the face of the moon. Before long, Brien shivered and suggested they go below to avoid the worsening weather. She needed some sleep to give her perspective on her situation and bolster her determination to avoid the temptation closing on her like an unseen shadow.

She pulled her damp shawl from her shoulders as she stood before her cabin door. She glanced furtively at the next door and thought of—
no!
Safely inside her darkened cabin, she reached for the oil lamp swaying above her and lighted it. Then she removed her shawl and sat down on a stool by her open trunk to remove the combs and pins from her hair. Since Jeannie’s illness, she had grown used to doing this for herself and found it strangely comforting.

Shaking out her hair, she lifted her mirror and gasped at the sight of Aaron’s face peering back at her from over her shoulder. She whirled on her seat. His long frame was stretched out on her narrow bed with his arms crossed behind his head. His slow, appreciative smile made her heart beat faster.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, jumping up to put as much distance as possible between them.

“Why, watching you begin your toilette.” His innocent tone was quickly replaced by a huskier quality. “Don’t let me interfere.

Now, what would be next?” He rubbed his chin. “The dress, perhaps?”

“If you don’t leave, I’ll call Dyso to remove you.” She started for the door.

“Ohhh, no.” In a single fluid movement, he bolted from the bed and planted himself between her and the door. “No offense, Brien, but your protector has very little humor about him and I have absolutely no desire for burial at sea.”

“Get out of my cabin or I’ll scream,” she uttered through clenched teeth.

“Scream, then. And prepare to navigate to Boston safely on your own.”

Silence settled. And lengthened.

After a long, tense moment, Brien crossed her arms with a determined huff. “If you came here expecting a repeat of today’s lapse of sanity, you’ve sorely misjudged both your appeal and my mental state.”

He gave a start and pulled away from the door, putting a finger to his mouth in a call for silence. She realized that Dyso must have taken up his vigil outside her door and quickly weighed the possibility of calling to him. It annoyed her to have to admit that Aaron was right; their getting to the colonies safely probably did depend on his survival.

He pulled her, resisting silently, to a seat on the bunk beside him.

“Keep your voice down and I’ll keep my distance.” Seeing her move as far away on the bunk as possible, he grinned.

“What do you want?” she demanded in constricted tones.

“To talk with you.”

“You don’t need to lurk about in my darkened cabin just to ‘talk’

with me.”

“True.” He sank back onto one elbow and swept her with a look.

“But would you have me confess in front of my crew that the thought of you in bed, only a few feet away, robs me of sleep?

That the sight of you on deck with the sun in your hair sends an ache through me that I can’t control? That the scent of you as you brush past me in the passage pours fire into my blood?”

“I am not responsible for your wayward impulses.”

“Ah, but you are. Tonight when you kissed me—”

“I did
not
kiss you.”

“You kissed me back,” he amended, growing more serious. “I realized that I will have no peace until what is between us is settled.”

“There is nothing to settle,” she said adamantly. “I paid you handsomely to wed me legally and then disappear, and you’ve kept no part of that bargain. There is no legal record of the marriage and I can’t seem to get rid of you.”

“We have only your father’s word that there were no records.

And he was hardly a disinterested party in the search for them.”

She was taken aback. “Are you implying that he found the records but just chose to ignore or destroy them? I’ll have you know, my father is a decent and honorable man.”

“So”—he came up fast from his casual sprawl—“am I. I believed, as you did, that we were being legally and morally bound in wedlock. I believe that we were and are still married.

And I believe we should take some time to decide what we want to do about it.”

“There is nothing to decide.” Alarm sent a cold draft through her.

“If we were ‘legally’ married—
which cannot be proved
—and if we were ‘morally’ married—
which cannot be enforced
—it changes nothing. There is nothing to be gained by unearthing a marriage that both of us intended to ignore.”

“Are you certain about that?” His face and strident posture softened. “Are you sure that you don’t need anything that marriage could provide? Companionship, perhaps? A sense of belonging? Children? Satisfaction? Pleasure?”

Pleasure.
A treacherous trickle of anticipation sluiced through her. There it was; the crux of the matter. He wanted her.

Physically. That was what all of this was about.

“You forget, I’ve tasted those marital pleasures and found them not to my liking.”

“
You
forget, it was I who introduced you to those pleasures. And your reaction to them was not at all unfavorable.” He leaned closer, sweeping her face with a tactile look before sinking his gaze into hers. “You were wonderful, Brien. Sweet and warm. So eager to learn, to experience, to give.” He searched her relentlessly, refusing to allow her to retreat from his intimate scrutiny, willing the fear that encased her heart and passions to melt.

Her only recourse was to close her eyes. “I have learned well the ways of men. And I have no need or desire to ever submit to another.” Her face took on that trace of sadness that sometimes surfaced when she thought no one was watching.

His irritation melted at once into unexpected tenderness. He reached inside his belt, drew something out, and put it into her hands.

She opened her eyes on two hand-carved combs.

Brown-and-amber tortoiseshell. She looked up at him, confused.

“Don’t you recognize them?” he said softly. “I took them from your hair that night. It was all I had to prove to me that you were not a sweet delusion.”

Warmth flooded her, threatening to inundate her last desperate defenses. She turned her back to him so that he couldn’t see the mixture of fear and longing that filled her. She squeezed the combs so that the teeth dug into her hands and reminded her of the pain that lay ahead if she gave in to the temptation he presented.

His hand hovered over her shoulder before settling in a caress on her half-bare shoulder. She could hardly breathe. Her bones seemed to have turned fluid and she had neither the will nor the power to move away.

His shallow breath moved a wisp of hair near her temple and she closed her eyes, battling fear and reason to remain still.

“Brien, if you want, I’ll leave.”

Jolted by this offer—just as she had begun to surrender—she summoned enough strength to take one step away. Her heart stopped for a moment as his hands slid around her waist, releasing her.

There would be another time, Aaron thought as he watched her struggling with her conflicting desires, when she would come to him gladly. He knew if he pressed a bit harder, turned her and kissed her, she would respond— But somehow that didn’t seem to be enough. He wanted her to choose him . . . wanted her joyful, eager, and free of doubt . . . wanted her to celebrate in his arms. With fresh insight, he knew that was all she asked—the freedom to choose, to give.

And he must give her that freedom now.

Without another word, he stepped up onto the bunk and flung open one of the small windows above it.

“What are you doing?” She whirled and found him standing on her bunk.

“You can hardly expect me to exit over your hulking protector.”

He gestured toward the door. The sound of the sea drifted in through the small opening, and alarm seized her.

“But you can’t go out there—you’ll be killed!”

“Ah!”—he brightened—“we do make progress. The lady cares whether I live or die. Don’t worry. I designed this ship, remember?” With a twist of his muscular frame, he slid out the window and grasped handholds and footholds.

Brien scrambled up onto the bunk and leaned her head out to see if he was all right. But there was nothing but darkness and a rogue bit of spray that dampened her face. She pulled in and latched the window, mortified by the danger he courted so blithely, and dismayed by her protective reaction.

Moments later, a gentle but unmistakable rap on the wall from the next cabin allowed her to breathe easily once more.

“Wretched man.”

Fifteen

THE NEXT DAY DAWNED bright and cool. Brien secured a mug of tea in the commons and used it to warm her hands as she stood on the quarterdeck, looking out over the ship. The view of the long vessel from there was commanding: an acre of oiled and polished decking, thousands of yards of pristine canvas, a maze of new ropes and rows of neatly stowed spars, gaffes, and other tools. She was properly awed as she thought of the overwhelming forces pulling on the vessel and of the courage it took to pilot her safely through an Atlantic crossing.

The breeze ruffled her skirts and made her pull her cloak tightly about her. She watched the way the sailor at the wheel stood erect and held the wheel with both firmness and respect.

Suddenly she could see why men loved the challenge and power of the sea and risked life and fortune to test themselves against it.

It was exhilarating just to watch.

A pang of envy swept her. She would love to share the communion with the elements and the sense of power and accomplishment the men of the crew must feel as they raced along that sea road. It truly was enough to lure a nobleman to forsake title and comfort. At least, one nobleman . . .

Him again. She gave a long-suffering sigh.

Dyso had followed her up on deck and stood looking out to sea, a strange peacefulness on his fierce features. She left his side to stroll along the railing toward the bow. She did not hear Aaron approach and lean on the rail behind her.

“It won’t be long before you’ll glimpse America for the first time.”

She was glad to have a neutral topic to talk to him about. “Is it very beautiful, this new land?” She searched the horizon that his hand had swept, while fighting the warmth that tingled through her at the sound of his voice.

“Wait until you see it.” She could hear his grin and feel the excitement in his tone. “Rich, fertile fields that grow everything imaginable. Thick forests of oak and hickory, maple and walnut .

. . millions of acres. Land no man has trod. Views from mountaintops no human has ever seen. And water—beautiful rivers, lakes, and streams. And there are beaver and fox and deer

. . . it’s a treasure box just waiting to be explored.”

When she finally turned to him, there was a new light in his eyes, a passion unlike any she had seen there before.

“Of course, the cities aren’t much yet, by continental standards,”

he continued. “Dirt streets mostly . . . simple houses and shops, open-air markets. But they’re growing. Boston, New York, and Philadelphia have fine public buildings and churches, and homes to rival some of the finest in West London. Wealth draws culture to it. With people spreading west, clearing the land and discovering new resources, it can’t be long before life in America equals that in England.”