The Elusive Flame (15 page)

“Is this wedding so remarkable, Mr. Oaks?” Cerynise inquired, trying to curb her irritation. She didn’t need to be reminded of how startling the impending nuptials might seem to the crew, but it certainly wasn’t
that
outlandish for a man and a woman to suddenly decide to wed. “People get married every day.”

“Aye, miss, but they’re not the captain. I’d never have thought that he’d consent to tying himself down to any lady by wedding—” The mate broke off, immediately aware of having gone too far. “I beg your pardon, miss. I didn’t mean…that is, there is nothing wrong with you marrying the captain, not at all. ’Tis a grand idea, in fact. The perfect solution, as it be.”

Cerynise’s brows lifted to a lofty level. “Solution? Do you mean you know—”

Mr. Oaks held up a hand, forestalling her. “All I meant, miss, is that the crew was betting the captain wouldn’t let
that sod, Winthrop, take you. We had no doubt that he’d find a way ta keep you safe. The only question we couldn’t answer accurately was just how he was going ta do it.” The mate grinned broadly. “Of course, most of the men didn’t realize he’d go this far. They were thinking perhaps a few shots would be fired, and there’d be a run for the open sea, that sort of thing. Nothing like this, though.”

Cerynise stared at him in amazement. “You thought the captain would set you to flight along the Thames, fighting your way out like…like a band of
pirates
…all because of me?”

Mr. Oaks responded with a casual shrug. “It happens, miss. From time to time, there’s a difference of opinion that can’t be easily or peaceably settled. Why, in Barcelona last year, we—” The mate caught himself abruptly and changed the subject. “The point is, miss, I know the captain better than anybody on board. It didn’t seem likely he’d do anything to endanger you, so there wasn’t a lot of choices to be had. Besides, he’s not exactly the most ordinary bloke I’ve ever come across. Likes to do the unexpected, he does.” Oaks chortled and patted the purse he wore on his belt. “At least, it was unexpected to most of the lads.”

Cerynise’s jaw sagged as the realization dawned. Then she snapped her mouth closed in an angry huff. “Do you mean, Mr. Oaks, that you actually wagered on the outcome of our set-to with Mr. Winthrop?”

Stephen Oaks looked suddenly sheepish. “Aye, miss.”

“I hope you will enjoy your winnings, Mr. Oaks,” she replied as graciously as she could manage at the moment. Indeed, she was rather surprised at how steady her voice sounded in her own ears. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like a few moments to myself before—”

It was impossible for Oaks to ignore her irritation. “I’m sorry, miss. Sometimes my mouth runs ahead of my wits.”

“’Tis a folly some people must cope with,” she replied pithily. “However, if you’ll excuse me.…”

Mr. Oaks looked acutely repentant as he twisted his cap
between his hands. “That’s actually what I came to tell you, miss. ’Tis time.”

She gasped in shock. “Already?”

The mate gave her a nod. “Aye, miss. There’s a rector right here in Southwark who owes the captain a favor or two. He came straightaway when he was sent for. He and the captain are on deck waiting for you now.”

Cerynise was astounded. The time had come upon her in such a rush that she wasn’t at all sure she was mentally prepared to face the nuptials. “Surely there are formalities, permission to be obtained, and other things.…”

“You’ll have to ask the captain about all of that, miss. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve been sent to escort you to the quarterdeck.”

Cerynise meekly followed the mate, once again watching one foot being placed before the other as she ascended the companionway. She could see this thing through, she told herself, and get beyond it without feeling any remorse because it was only a farce. The real difficulty would come later, when she had to sign her name to the annulment papers and watch Beau Birmingham sail out of her life.

The loading of the cargo had stopped, and the entire crew had gathered. Most were on the main deck. Others had climbed into the ratlines for a better view. The men fell silent when she emerged, and their eyes slowly followed as she climbed to the upper deck. She was dimly aware of a slight figure of a man standing beside Beau, but she barely noticed him, for her attention was completely focused on the powerful, compelling individual who was about to become her husband.

Beau was handsomely garbed in a darkly subdued navy-and-gray plaid frock coat, white shirt and cravat, high-buttoned waistcoat that matched the gray in his coat, and darker gray trousers with straps fastened beneath black ankle-boots. The sight of him made her heart flutter nervously, for he was quite distinguished looking in his dapper attire. Looking at him made her wish that she had been forewarned about his decision to dress for the occasion.
Smoothing her hair was the best she could do as Mr. Oaks escorted her to the deck.

Beau smiled into her eyes and, reaching out to take her hand, pulled her against him. The unease that Cerynise had felt over her appearance dissipated. It was as if spring had come once more to the land. Her would-be husband slid an arm around her waist and pressed his lips against the hair above her temples. “You look lovelier than any bride I’ve ever seen, my dear.”

Cerynise braced a trembling hand against his waistcoat to keep herself from falling forward against him, for the sturdy arm encompassing her pulled her much too close for what seemed suitable for an
in name only
arrangement. If Beau didn’t yet realize how susceptible she was to his sweet words, cajoling looks and to his very presence, she most certainly did. She knew exactly why her heart raced out of control above the confines of her corset.

“May I return similar compliments to the groom, sir?” Cerynise breathed, hoping he couldn’t detect the nervous quaver in her voice. “Your appearance has far-exceeded my expectations. Indeed, I feel put out with myself for not having taken more time with my own preparations.”

“Your worries are groundless, my dear.” Beau leaned down to nuzzle her hair again, stirring forth a tantalizing scent that flicked across his senses, awakening him to the realization that she was not only beautiful, but utterly feminine as well. It wasn’t a compliment he casually bestowed upon all women, but it was unquestionably true in this case. “You smell nice, too.”

At the moment, it didn’t matter to Cerynise that she felt wonderfully suffocated by his presence or that her cheeks were glowing warmly. She could only assume that his wooing was contrived for the rector or perhaps for the pleasure of his crew. She could hear many of them encouraging their captain amid the running banter of their cohorts. That fact didn’t concern her overly much. What really mattered was the astonishing sense of contentment
that she felt in his embrace, as if she had always belonged there. But then, she had always dreamed she would.

A thin, gray-haired, middle-aged man with kindly gray eyes stepped near. From the rough appearance of his hands, Cerynise quickly surmised that he had been tilling soil prior to his arrival, no doubt readying it for the winter ahead. Although he had obviously made some effort to wash, his deeply calloused hands still bore traces of dirt in the cracks of his hardened skin and beneath his ragged nails. His frayed waistcoat was only partially fastened, his stock ill tied and askew, and his cheeks bristly from a recent growth of whiskers, all evidence of a man who had hastened to answer an urgent summons and one who had difficulty making ends meet. Yet, in spite of his rather poor and disheveled appearance, Cerynise felt immediately at ease in his presence, for she sensed him to be a gentle and kindhearted man.

“You are Miss Kendall?” he queried with a friendly smile.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you are entering into this marriage of your own free will, without coercion of any sort?”

The question was unexpected, and she glanced up at Beau in some surprise. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Mr. Carmichael doesn’t concern himself with formalities overmuch, my dear, but he must confirm, for his own peace of mind, that both parties have come willingly to a decision to marry. Did you of your own free will agree to marry me?”

Though Beau presented the question, Cerynise turned her gaze to the clergyman and answered in a softly hushed tone. “I am consenting, sir.”

The warmth of Beau’s hand replaced the coldness that had threatened to engulf her only moments ago when she had climbed to the quarterdeck. She entwined her fingers through his and held on tightly.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony.…”

G
AZING INTO HER
eyes, Beau murmured the words that bound them together. “I take thee, Cerynise Edlyn Kendall, to be my lawfully wedded wife.…”

The words, quietly uttered, reverberated through Cerynise’s heart. She seriously doubted that she had ever heard anything that touched her so completely as his promises to love, honor and cherish. With all of her being, she wanted the words to mean something to him, too, and fervently hoped he wasn’t merely murmuring them for the sake of gallantry. She could feel her eyes misting as she began to repeat her own vows, and she lowered her gaze to the strong, lean hands that held hers in a gentle grasp. “I take thee, Beauregard Grant Birmingham, to be my lawfully wedded husband.…”

Some moments later, Mr. Carmichael inquired, “Who has the ring?”

Cerynise held her breath, for she had forgotten that small detail and was sure that Beau had also. She expected to hear some excuse as to his reason for not having one and was immensely surprised when he began to work a
small band of gold off his little finger. Smoothly slipping the ring past the slender knuckle of her third finger, he repeated the words the rector spoke. “With this ring, I thee wed.…”

The older man finally concluded the ceremony. “I now pronounce you man and wife.” He gave a nod to Beau. “You may kiss the bride now.”

Suddenly there was a loud chorus of voices shouting encouragement. “Aye, Cap’n. Kiss her! Show us how it’s done!”

Cerynise blushed to the roots of her hair and would have turned away for fear of being coolly rebuffed. A small gasp of surprise escaped her as Beau tightened his arm about her waist and pulled her completely around until they were facing his crew. Raising his free arm, he motioned for silence.

“All right, me hearties,” he cried with a jovial chortle. “If you want an exhibition, I’ll give you one, but mark my words well. I’ll not instruct you again. Learn now or never!”

Hearty laughter, heavily mingled with applause, drowned the beat of Cerynise’s heart as Beau settled his arms close around her. She felt awkward, not knowing what to do with her own arms, and finally slid them behind his neck as she lifted her gaze to his. Slanting its way across his handsome lips was a rather wickedly wayward grin reminiscent of a smile the younger Beau Birmingham had always worn during his teasing moods. Cerynise could almost see the puckish little demon perched upon his shoulder, but all reason fled as his face descended and hovered close above her own.

“Bear with my kiss, madam,” he whispered, his breath warm upon her mouth. “My men would be disappointed if I were remiss in giving you one.”

Suddenly his lips were moving over hers in a warmly seductive kiss that bestirred some strange, unexplainable pleasure in the pit of her womanly being. It was a heady brew that sapped the strength from her limbs and made
her head swim and her heart race wildly out of control. She felt herself being turned and lowered over the arm braced beneath the small of her back. The position no doubt allowed his men full advantage of the view. From there, the kiss advanced rapidly, startling her virginal senses as his tongue silkily plied her mouth and greedily consumed the sweet nectar of her timid response. Cerynise had never imagined such a shocking thing could happen in a kiss and didn’t know how to gracefully respond except to allow him full access. Then, too, she wasn’t exactly sure whether it was the proper way to kiss or not, considering it was her first one. Still, she was sharply skeptical that so thorough a kiss was needful for the benefit of his crew. Yet, considering their agreement, she could envision it as being the only one she would ever receive from Beau Birmingham, and that single worry took away any desire to resist.
If
she had to settle for a sterile relationship with her new husband, then she would garner every delectable memory she could store away in her heart before their marriage was terminated.

Without her being aware of it, her arms tightened around his neck, causing loud applause and wildly exaggerated crooning and heavy sighs to erupt from his men. Amid the din, the subtle coughing of the pastor almost went unnoticed except for Cerynise, who abruptly came to her senses. Moving her hands forward over Beau’s shoulders, she gave him a gentle push as she turned her face aside.

“Beau, please.…”

He straightened, pulling her up with him, and faced his men. Cerynise could feel her face burning as he clasped her close against his side. Indeed, she doubted the whalebone corset she wore cinched her waist as tightly. Immediately there arose a deafening cacophony of whistles, shouts of approval, and thunderous applause. Beau laughed and gave them a jaunty bow, and Cerynise sank into a deep curtsy, feeling pleasantly obliged to follow his example.

Beau waved an arm again to silence the uproar. “All
right, you lovesick sea wolves, you’ve had your spectacle for the day. What say you for bringing up a keg or two to celebrate?”

Cerynise clamped her hands over her ears and winced in pain at the noise that his suggestion had invited. She could feel Beau’s laughter against her midriff far better than she could hear it. Several of his men dashed off to fulfill his behest, and soon a barrel of rum was spiked, a spigot attached, and brimming cups passed around.

Mr. Carmichael had readied the papers for them to sign and patiently awaited their attention. Beau was the first to notice the man’s patient smile and escorted his young bride to the small table that had been set up for the clergyman’s benefit. The elder dipped a quill into the inkwell and handed it to Beau.

“Captain, if you would sign on the bottom line,” he urged, directing Beau’s attention to identical places on the two official-looking documents laid out side by side on the table. “I thought it would be best to have you sign two copies, one for the church registry here, and the other for you to take to your home port in case there should be inquiries into the legality of your marriage there.”

“Of course,” Beau agreed, scratching out his name in a graceful flourish.

“And now you, Mrs. Birmingham,” Mr. Carmichael coaxed.

Mrs. Birmingham.
The full enormity of what she had just vowed flooded through Cerynise, setting her to trembling.

Beau passed the quill to her and promptly caught it again as it slipped from her shaking fingers. He returned it to her, this time curling his hand around her own until she held the quill securely within her grasp, but one glance at her pale cheeks gave him cause to think that she might faint. Clasping an arm close around her waist again, he leaned near to whisper, “Not much longer, Cerynise.”

She saw the table swirling crazily before her eyes and, smothering a moan, averted her face from the sight. For
a brief moment, she dared to lean into the manly form that lent her support. He held her in silence, unruffled by her reaction. Gradually her reeling world subsided, and she straightened, inhaled deeply, and then plunged into the task of signing her new name. It looked strange there on the white parchment, an oddity that had no real substance.

Mr. Carmichael signed his name, applied wax and stamped it with a church seal to attest to the authenticity of the papers. Then he applied sand to the signatures, blew it off, and carefully handed a copy to Beau. “For your records, Captain.”

Mr. Oaks had joined them only a moment before and had remained at a respectful distance until Beau faced him. Without a word, the mate handed over two weighty purses to his superior, who in turn passed them on to the rector.

“And this, Parson, is for your orphanage.”

Sudden tears brightened the cleric’s eyes as he met Beau’s smiling gaze. He opened a trembling mouth several times to convey his gratitude, but the words were repeatedly choked by his swelling emotion. Finally, with face crumpling, he nodded vigorously. Beau gently laid a hand upon the man’s shoulder and escorted him to the gangplank. They parted with a fierce handshake, and then, after a final wave of farewell, Beau turned and made his way back to his bride.

The tears that filmed her eyes amazed him, and a small frown crossed his brow as he drew his own conclusions. “Regrets so soon, Cerynise?”

She shook her head. “Nay, Captain. I was just a bit overwhelmed by what you did for Mr. Carmichael.”

Beau casually brushed aside any praise for his benevolence. “My gift is hardly worthy of the man. He and his wife have taken it upon themselves to establish a safe haven for the orphaned children of this city, at least as many as they can find. He’s like your father in many respects, carrying a burden for the young and their future in this world. Mr. Carmichael works and scrimps to put food in their mouths and a little joy in their hearts.”

Mr. Oaks had stepped away a moment and now came back bearing a cup of rum for Beau. He grinned as his superior sampled a draught. “Congratulations, Captain. It isn’t often a man can find such a beautiful lady to take as his bride. You’re to be envied.”

More like pitied!
Beau mused. Jumping from the roasting pot into the fire was certainly not a logical thing for any man to do, but he’d done just that to save a friend from certain disaster. The fact that that friend was now a woman whom he desperately yearned to savor posed a difficulty he was not at all sure he could surmount, either now or later. But at least with the way things stood now, if he passed beyond that thin barrier, no one would accuse him of taking license with an innocent virgin.

Billy Todd scurried up to the quarterdeck to announce, “Mr. Monét has yer meal prepared in the cabin, sir, an’ a right fine one it is, too.”

“Thank you, Billy.” Beau faced his bride. “Would you care to dine, my dear?”

Cerynise realized with some astonishment that she was starving and eagerly nodded.

A smile flicked across Beau’s lips before he faced his second-in-command. “Take over for me, Mr. Oaks. I shall be dining with my wife if you should have need of me.”

Oaks gave him an eloquent wink and grinned. “Aye, sir.”

Cerynise turned to make her way to the companionway but gasped in sudden astonishment as she felt herself being swept up in her husband’s arms. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying my new bride to my cabin,” Beau answered with a chortle, having gained another loud ovation from his crew. “My men expect it, my dear.”

“I hope they don’t expect too much,” Cerynise quipped, showing a small dimple on the right side of her mouth as she smiled and looped her arms about his neck. What she said wasn’t necessarily the truth, but she enjoyed teasing him nevertheless.

As they descended the shadowed stairway, she could
feel his eyes scanning her face from very close range. He finally broached what was on his mind. “I gather, then, that you didn’t particularly relish my kiss.”

The impish sprite who was wont to appear from time to time pondered his question in a guise of perplexity. “ ’Twas most illuminating, sir. I’ve never been kissed exactly like that before.”

“Have you
ever
been kissed before?” Beau asked dryly.

“Now, sir, if I were to answer your question, I’d be giving away secrets I’d rather not confess.”

They came to his cabin door, and after lifting the latch, Beau pushed the door open with a shoulder and swept her through. “What confidences can long remain untold between a husband and his wife? A couple usually share the most intimate of secrets.”

“Are we to be intimate, then?”

Beau kicked the door closed behind him and grinned down at his bride as he continued to hold her within his arms. He had the greatest temptation to kiss her again just the way he had done on deck, yet he was intrigued by her inquiry. He knew that she referred to something entirely different than what he had in mind.
Intimate friends
was a fair distance in meaning from
being
intimate, but he countered with a question more pertinent to the easing of his tension. “Would you like to become intimate, my dear?”

The realization of what he meant dawned on Cerynise, and beneath his closely attentive stare, a vivid hue suffused her cheeks. Even so, she kept her composure well enough to sweetly ask in return, “Would you like to stay married, sir?”

Beau wasn’t at all sure how he could answer that truthfully without destroying the moment. For her benefit he seemed to ponder her question. “It all depends on how well we get along in our intimacy.”

Cerynise nodded understandingly. He wanted to be intimate, but he had no desire to have his freedom curtailed for the rest of his life. “I’m sure our dispositions will be
tested enough during the voyage for us to ascertain our compatibility without physical union, Captain, so if you’re making overtures to your bride, perhaps you should consider that I will not accept them without a lasting commitment.”

Beau sighed. “I thought you’d say that.”

“Disappointed, Captain?” she asked with feigned concern.

“I think you’re a little minx,” he remarked, withdrawing his arm from beneath her knees and letting her feet slide to the floor. In spite of the bulk of their clothing, the effect of their bodies sliding together created a sharp longing that only intensified Beau’s concern as to how he’d be able to cope with the tensions of withholding himself from her in the weeks and months to come. And then, strangely, there was that other thing. Only a moment ago he had longed to kiss her, and that temptation had not ebbed in the least. He yearned fervently to part those soft, comely lips with a kiss that would demonstrate all the passion of a newly spoused husband. Yet he found the enticement immensely unsettling, for it contradicted his normal mode of thinking. For a man who had refrained from kissing harlots even in the frenzied heat of passion, the irrepressible urge was something he had never before encountered. Kissing was unnecessary with strumpets, he had reasoned long ago, deeming it far too personal a practice to share his mouth with them. And no matter how intimate fornicating was, as a seaman and a bachelor intent upon remaining single he had found it necessary to ease his temperament as well as his manly needs in such a manner.

Beau had a sudden image of himself as some bewitched inamorato who slavered in fiendish lust for her kisses and her body, and no matter how outrageous he wanted to consider that notion, he perceived a small measure of truth was to be found in it nevertheless. He could hardly deny the fact that he was hungry for them both.