The Bride (5 page)

“No, why?” Eleanor could feel the heat of his hands through her gown and it was making her lethargic.

“It’s just too bad you didn’t soak him.”

“But—”

One of his hands left her shoulder, traveling up her neck to cup the delicate turn of her cheek. “I didn’t like his sitting beside you. Talking with you.” John gave a small shrug and one side of his mouth lifted. “I wanted to be in his place.”

“Even with the threat of wine spilling over you.” Her voice was a mere whisper because to speak any louder would have seemed foolish. He had lowered his head till it was only inches from hers.

“Even then,” he answered.

He was going to kiss her and the anticipation made her knees weak. She’d been kissed before... once. Sir Alfred had brushed his lips across her cheek. And she had felt nothing. Now, with only the notion of what was to come, she could scarcely stand it.

His breath mingled with hers, neither of them too steady and he looked into her eyes as if he could read her thoughts. And then he lowered his head.

The first touch was soft... gentle. Yet she felt the impact to the tips of her toes.

He used his hand to angle her face, to press his mouth more firmly against hers. A moan escaped Eleanor. She reached for his coat, wrapping her arms around his waist at the same time she felt the tip of his tongue wet her lips.

It seemed only natural to open her mouth to him. And then he was filling her, delving deep into the recesses of her mouth, and spearing ten fingers through her flaxen hair.

She’d hoped his kiss would be half as exciting as the descriptions in her novel. But Charles’s kisses paled in comparison, so much so that Eleanor wondered if the author had ever experienced anything like this.

She clung and he clung. And when they finally parted it was to gasp ragged breaths and stare into each other’s shocked faces.

“I didn’t mean to...” John stopped and wondered what in the hell he hadn’t meant to do. Or more importantly why he couldn’t stop thinking about doing it again.

“Oh, I don’t know what came over me,” Eleanor agreed. But whatever it was was still there. She still had her arms encircling his lean hips and wasn’t the least inclined to let him go.

But obviously reason took hold of him for he untangled his hands from her hair and stepped out of her embrace. “Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

“What...? Oh, you are correct, of course.” What did he mean? The kiss? The note? Whichever, he seemed annoyed, pacing between the rocks and the path that lead to the orchard.

What in the hell was he doing. Eleanor Fiske wasn’t some loose woman he wanted to slack his lust upon—though that idea had its merits. She was the woman he hoped to marry. The untarnished, society woman he hoped to marry. And he was supposed to be proving to her that he was worthy of her. That he wouldn’t be an embarrassment to her friends. That he could be accepted.

With a swipe at the dark hair that had spilled across his forehead, John turned to her. “You probably should go back to Oakgate. I imagine your family will be rising by now.”

He was right, of course. Sneaking out as she did was daring enough, but if someone... her mother... came to her room and she wasn’t there... Well, Eleanor couldn’t imagine what explanations she could give. Or what Matilda would do.

But that didn’t change the fact that he was disenchanted with her. They kissed. And he was disappointed. She turned to leave before he could see the tears that burned her eyes. It was his calling of her name that made her stop, but she kept herself facing the cold marble house at the top of the grade.

“I will see you tomorrow on your father’s sailboat.”

Eleanor simply nodded, then hurried up the path. He wouldn’t go sailing with them tomorrow. Her mother would see to that. Their acquaintance was at an end. And his kiss would haunt her forever. As Eleanor stepped undetected through her bedroom door, a plump tear broke loose of her lashes and drifted down her cheek.

“W
hat in the hell is he doing here?” John took a deep breath and nodded toward the titled gentleman still standing on the pier. Beside Eleanor.

“I had to invite him... Matilda insisted.”

John glared at Eleanor’s father and tied off the rope he held. “I agreed to this outing because you said it would be a good chance for your daughter and I to be together.”

“Under my watchful eye,” Franklin reminded and John wondered if he knew about Eleanor and his meeting yesterday morning.

“That’s fine. But I’m interested in getting this settled as quickly as possible.” John found the longer he was around the socially elite the more he disliked the experience. He was anxious to return to Montana... to work he told himself, but wondered if there wasn’t more to it than that. The people of Newport and their proper lives annoyed him. Except for Eleanor.

John repressed that thought and turned his attention back to her father when he spoke.

“I told you yesterday that Eleanor loves sailing. It’s the one place where she shines, so to speak.”

John wanted to tell Franklin that Eleanor shone a lot more than he gave her credit for, but he was too busy worrying about his queasy stomach. For if there was one place that John didn’t belong it was on a boat.

He discovered that the first time he boarded one. His mother had died and there was nothing for him in New Orleans. So he decided to sign on a ship heading around the Cape of Good Hope. California was the call he would follow. But getting there was a nightmare of nausea and storms and decks that tilted so far off center he thought they’d surely capsize.

He was fourteen at the time, passing for sixteen, and doing his best to keep his malady hidden. For three months he endured, finally gaining his sea legs as they traveled north up the California coast. And he swore to himself that as soon as he crossed the gangplank he’d keep his feet firmly planted on land. A vow he kept until today.

It was a testament to how impatient John was becoming with this courtship that he agreed to Franklin’s plan. Eleanor enjoyed sailing. He could pretend... for a day. And they’d be chaperoned by the one person other than himself, who wished his suit to succeed... her father.

And there would be no Matilda Fiske to cope with. For Franklin had assured him Matilda never sailed. But Eleanor’s mother had done her best to cross him anyway, and she didn’t even realize it. She’d insisted Sir Alfred be included... even though she had no idea John would be aboard.

Minutes later Sir Alfred helped Eleanor on board and they left the pier. Franklin Fiske prided himself on his sailing and it was obvious Sir Alfred did too. He quickly took over the task of first mate. Which was fine with John.

The sky was blue, the sea calm and the wind just brisk enough to send them skimming across the waves. And still his stomach revolted.

But by the expression on Eleanor’s face it was obvious she loved the experience. Looking out over the bow, her hair blowing free of the pink ribbon, she looked very young and almost beautiful.

John swallowed down a wave of nausea and decided on the spot to furnish her with expensive boats and crew after their marriage. He would be in Montana most of the time anyway, but there was no reason why she couldn’t enjoy herself.

She looked toward him and smiled shyly and he couldn’t help the pang of regret. For the circumstances surrounding their meeting... for the marriage he would propose. She deserved better. He glanced toward Sir Alfred and remembered his decision that Eleanor deserved better than him, too. Which she wasn’t likely to get knowing how her mother favored that union.

So the choice was simple. And to John’s way of thinking easily made. After all, he could provide Eleanor with all the material things she could ever want.

“You seem pensive.” Eleanor settled into the seat beside John.

John forced a smile. He imagined pensive was a courteous term to describe the way he looked. At least if it was anything like he felt. He ignored her statement. “You certainly appear to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am, but...” She reached out to touch his cheek, then obviously thought better of it and let her hand drop. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” John sucked in his breath. “Perhaps just a bit seasick.”

“Oh my. Should we turn back?” Eleanor shaded her eyes and stared toward the fading shoreline.

“No.” John grabbed her hand when she would have moved toward her father. “It will pass.”

“Are you sure?”

“It always does,” John lied. “But you seem to be enjoying the ride.”

“Yes.” She turned her face to the breeze, letting the wind sweep over her. “My earliest happy memory is of sailing. Mother hates it so she never came along. It was just my father and me.” Her lashes lowered. “I never seem to spill anything when I’m sailing.”

She glanced over at him and laughed and John decided to buy her the largest yacht he could find. He only regretted he would be away from her most of the lime, unable to see her pleasure.

As if sensing that she’d revealed too much about herself, Eleanor changed the subject. “Were you born in Montana?”

“No. New Orleans.”

“Really? I have some distant cousins who live in New Orleans.”

“I doubt I know them.” John realized his tone was harsh and smiled to soften the effect. “My father died... tragically. After that,” he lied, “my mother didn’t travel much in society.” She stayed in her crib, entertaining every man who came along, John wanted to say, but of course he didn’t. As sweet as she seemed, Eleanor Fiske, child of wealth and privilege, would never understand... or accept the life he’d led. Nor did he want her to. Wasn’t the entire purpose of marrying Eleanor to push himself as far away from his past as he could?

“I think the wind has picked up,” Eleanor said after a few moments of silence. She’d made him angry and she wasn’t sure how. But she was acting as bad as Alexandra Quince looking into his pedigree.

She stood and after excusing herself went to help her father and Sir Alfred with the sails. The afternoon wore on and Eleanor watched as John Bonner gamely spelled Sir Alfred. But she could tell he wasn’t well, and couldn’t help wondering why he came sailing if it affected him so.

Not that she’d been sorry to see him this morning on the dock. She heard snippets of an argument between her parents last evening and the occasional mention of Mr. Bonner’s name lead her to believe he was the cause.

But apparently her mother hadn’t succeeded in her campaign to have him banned. Eleanor was so deep in thought that she almost missed the first flash of lightning as it zigzagged across the sky. But no one could miss the booming roar of thunder. She looked up to see dark, fast-moving clouds pushing in from the south.

“We’ll head back to Oakgate,” her father yelled over the snap of the wind in the sails, as he began to tack the sloop around. But he hadn’t gone very far when he decided they should change course and try to make the closer peninsula of land to the west where the Yacht Club had its dock.

“Looks like we’ll be forced to ride out the storm over lobster at Hogat’s,” Sir Alfred added.

His smile wasn’t nearly so bright moments later when the rain began.

Hell and damnation. This wasn’t going at all as he planned. John helped Sir Alfred fight down the sail and Franklin wrestle the rudder, trying to keep them on course. But the small sailboat was bobbing around on the whitecaps, taking on water from the sky as well as the sea.

Eleanor was sitting in the bow gamely bailing and after the sails were furled, John sank onto his knees to do the same. Which was why he was beside her when the wave crashed over the hull.

She was leaning over the side, dumping a bucket of water one moment. The next she had disappeared.

“Eleanor!” The ocean seemed to swallow up his shout as completely as it had her. John didn’t waste time yelling again. He’d always been a man of action, and action was needed now. Without a backward glance he leaped over the side, plummeting into the churning water.

He’d learned to swim in the muddy waters of the Mississippi, but it hadn’t prepared him for this. Each movement was a struggle, a fight of will against a foe that hours ago had seemed friendly and benign. John jackknifed his body forcing himself beneath the boiling sea. The briny water stung his eyes as he searched for some sign of her. When he had to surface or burst, John gulped a deep breath of rain slashed air and tried to see above the cresting whitecaps.

That’s when he noticed her bobbing on the waves. As he called out she disappeared beneath the surface but he quickly thrust himself toward where he’d seen her. His arms felt like lead as he tried to force them to battle the swirling water.

And then she was there... in front of him. Gasping for breath. When she saw him her eyes opened wider.

“The boat,” he said motioning back over his shoulder. But when he grabbed her hand, then looked around, Franklin’s pride and joy was headed away from them, moving faster than they could possibly swim.

It was a flash of lightning that illuminated the coast, showing him there was a chance they wouldn’t drown. Still the waves buffeted then about, making their progress slow and hard fought. But he discovered that Eleanor Fiske was stronger than she looked. And a hell of a lot better swimmer than he would have ever suspected. Though her skirts were heavy and constantly dragging her down, she stayed with him, only needing his aid when they neared the tree-lined shore.