To Catch a Bride (38 page)

His calm rationality was beginning to get on her nerves. What did he think she could change about this situation?

“Now, are there any more things you need to tell me, any other secrets you might want to dredge up as a reason not to marry me? We might as well deal with them all in one hit.”

Ayisha’s jaw dropped. “You mean . . . ?”

He raised an elegant brow. “Did you expect me to stagger back, yapping on about being betrayed, like a bad stage play?”

She blinked at him.

“You did,” he said, “I can see it in your eyes. What a fellow you must think me. But I made a promise to you and I keep my promises.”

“You still intend to marry me?”

His voice hardened. “Did I not make myself clear, earlier?”

“Yes,” she said seriously. “But at the time you thought you were asking Alicia Cleeve.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know Alicia Cleeve. I know you.”

He put a slight emphasis on the word
know
, and she was reminded of the biblical use of the word. Of course, he’d
known
her last night, and like the true gentleman he was, he was going to accept the consequences, no matter who she was.

Because she might be with child.

And because she’d locked herself in a cabin with him to save his life, and it caused gossip.

She’d deceived him, but despite that, and knowing that by marrying the illegitimate daughter of Sir Henry Cleeve he would be making a dreadful mésalliance, he was going to marry her anyway.

Because he was a gentleman of honor and he’d given her a promise.

The silence stretched. “You truly wish to marry me?”

“No ‘wish’ about it—I
will
marry you.” His tone brooked no argument.

“Because of the gossip and me being . . . ruined?”

“The peeled vegetables are only part of it,” he said solemnly.

“Peeled veg—” she began, then saw the faint gleam of humor in his eyes.

He sobered. “We may have started a baby last night, and I want our children to be born in wedlock. I assume you do, too.”

“Of course, it’s just . . .”

“We’ve spent more than ten days locked in a small cabin together, and we’ve got on remarkably well, considering the circumstances. It augurs well for the future.”

It was hardly a declaration of love. She sighed. What did she expect?

He frowned at her continuing silence. “There will be compensations,” he said abruptly. “You did not dislike making love with me last night, did you?”

She found herself blushing and shook her head.

“It will be better tonight,” he vowed. “The first time is not always pleasant, for women.”

There was a short silence, one she felt compelled to fill.

“It was . . . pleasant,” she told him in a whisper. It had been more than pleasant. She couldn’t imagine it being any better.

“Well then, you have no reason to hesitate.” His eyes burned silver blue, steady and opaque.

Ayisha chewed her lip. She should refuse him. If she had the slightest bit of gallantry in her, she would. It was the decent thing to do.

But she loved him. And she didn’t have it in her to say no to a lifetime of loving him.

She’d told him the truth about herself, and he was man enough to understand the consequences. Her grandmother would probably disown her, his brother would certainly despise her, and if word got out, society might whisper. It would not be easy.

“I am asking you now, Ayisha,” he said in a tight voice. “But it is a formality, not a question. The outcome is already decided. You
will
marry me.”

She’d made a clean breast of everything—almost. If he regretted this fit of gallantry later, that was his concern.

She’d do everything in her power to make sure he didn’t regret marrying her. And she was going to love him more than he’d ever been loved in his life.

“I would be honored to marry you, Mr. Ramsey,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

There was a short silence.

“Excellent. For a moment there I thought you weren’t going to be sensible. Not that I would have accepted any other response,” he said in a brisk, businesslike voice. He rose to his feet. “We shall be married either at your grandmother’s or at Axebridge. We shall decide when we get there.” Meaning when they saw how her grandmother would react.

“Whatever you s—mmphh!” Ayisha forgot whatever it was she’d been going to say, because he’d hauled her to her feet and was kissing her. In a very unbusinesslike way.

I
t wasn’t an I’m-glad-you’ve-decided-to-be-sensible kiss at all. It was a possession, a dizzying, triumphant claim. Or at least that’s how it felt to Ayisha.

He pulled her hard against him and lavished her with kisses, kissing her mouth, her eyelids, the soft skin behind her ear, her mouth, her throat, her mouth, her mouth . . .

“You won’t regret it,” he murmured between kisses.

Ayisha didn’t try to answer. He might be marrying her out of gallantry, but this part—this at least was real. He wanted her. And she wanted him.

The swell of the sea was growing and the ship moved from side to side. Taking her with him, and without breaking their embrace, he moved until his back rested against the cabin wall.

“Better?” he said, and without waiting for her reply, he deepened the kiss. The taste of him in her mouth excited her. She knew now what to expect, and she wanted it, wanted him.

His body pressed against the whole length of hers, his hard chest crushing her breasts, his groin pushing against her belly, one long, hard horseman’s thigh pressing between her quivering thighs.

She ran her palms over the warm planes of his body, kissing him feverishly, drowning in the waves of velvet fire that surged through her. His tongue caressed hers, sending fiery trails wherever it touched: teasing, igniting, inflaming.

He ran one hand slowly down her back, tucking her lower body between thighs parted and braced against the movement of the ship. Her body ached for the hardness of his arousal, writhing sinuously against him, loving the friction, aroused by it, driven by the need for a deeper intimacy. Aching, burning, frustrated.

His chest rose and fell as if he’d been running, his eyes, heavy-lidded and sleepy-looking, gleamed silver blue, the pupils dark, dilated, and rich with promise.
Rumpled beds and long, hot nights . . .

He stopped on a sudden intake of breath and set her gently to one side. Why? Her legs trembled as if her bones had dissolved and she staggered.

He steadied her, one hand on her waist. And then she heard it, the knocking, and the voice calling, “It’s Higgins, sir.”

He straightened his cravat and opened the door. “What is it?” His voice was faintly ragged.

“The captain’s compliments, sir. A bottle of wine for you and a small something for Miss Ayisha. There’s a note with it.” Higgins held out a tray with a bottle of wine, a small box, and a folded note.

Rafe took them and Higgins left.

“Wine from Italy, very nice,” Rafe commented, looking at the bottle. He passed the note and the box to Ayisha. “Read it, it’s for both of us.”

She broke the seal on the note and read it. “It’s in thanks for us helping to fight off the pirates yesterday. Isn’t that nice?”

“What’s in the box?”

She opened it and gasped with pleasure. “Oooh, Turkish delight.” She popped a piece in her mouth at once and, feeling the burst of sweetness in her mouth, made an ecstatic sound. “It’s delicious. I love Turkish delight—will you have some?”

He shook his head with a faint smile. “No, thank you.”

“But you must taste it, it’s the most delicious sweet.”

“Very well, if you insist,” he murmured, but instead of reaching for the box, he bent and kissed her thoroughly.

“Delicious indeed,” he said when he lifted his head, and she felt herself blushing. He lifted her to her feet and drew her closer, but again they were interrupted by a knock.

“Me again, sir,” Higgins called through the door.

Rafe yanked open the door. “Forgotten something?”

“No, sir,” Higgins said apologetically. “The ladies sent this to Miss Ayisha. With thanks and in admiration of her bravery.” He handed over a small tin and four books. “And one of the sailors, a lad called Jammo, gave me this for Miss Ayisha’s cat.” It was a piece of string, with one end tied in an intricate knot.

“What—” Rafe began.

“It’s called a monkey’s fist,” Ayisha told him. “Some of the boys showed me the different knots they tied—some are very pretty. And how clever, this looks exactly like a fat little mouse. Here, Cleo!” She bent and waggled the string until the kitten was twitching with anticipation. She tossed it a few feet away, the kitten bounded after it, pounced, and a battle to the death commenced.

Ayisha laughed. “Thank Jammo for me and Cleo, will you, Higgins?”

“Of course, miss.”

She took the books eagerly. “
The Mysteries of Udolpho
, in four volumes,” she exclaimed, examining them. “It belongs to Mrs. Ferris—I saw volume one in her cabin. She must have seen me looking at it. How extraordinary of her to send me a gift.”

She opened the first volume. “Oh, listen to this:

‘Fate sits on these dark battlements, and frowns, / And, as the portals open to receive me, / Her voice, in sullen echoes through the courts, / Tells of a nameless deed.’

“How wonderfully thrilling it sounds, I cannot wait to read it.” She opened the tin. “Biscuits of some sort. They must have bought them in Malta. How kind.”

She hugged the gifts to her and said, “Higgins, why is everyone being so kind to me today? I don’t understand.”

Higgins smiled. “They reckon you helped save the ship yesterday, miss. Everyone’s talking about your courage. Major Ramsey’s, too, of course,” he added. “But they expect a war hero to be brave. Nobody expected a lady to fight. Mrs. Ferris is quite the heroine, too, I might add, having followed your example. You two ladies stopped quite a few villains getting aboard. So enjoy them, miss; you deserve much more.” Higgins gave Rafe a look as he said it.

“Go away, Higgins,” Rafe said calmly. “And don’t come back. Miss Ayisha has finally agreed to marry me, so there are things we need to . . . discuss.”

Higgins’s eyes lit up. “Congratulations, sir, miss.” He beamed. “Don’t worry, sir, you won’t be disturbed again.” He bowed and left.

She offered the tin to Rafe, but he shook his head. He wasn’t hungry. Or at least he was, but not for food.

She looked up at Rafe with eager, shining eyes. “I must thank Mrs. Ferris and the other ladies. And the captain, too, for the Turkish delight. And Jammo. It’s so kind of them. It’s like a birthday. Do we have a pen and paper?”

Realizing there would be no kissing until the letters were written, he sighed inwardly and searched in his baggage for some writing paper and a pen. Her unaffected delight in such simple gifts touched him; she probably hadn’t had many gifts in her life. Or much appreciation.

He found his writing case and passed her several sheets of writing paper. “Pen and ink or porte-crayon?” he asked.

His body ached, unfulfilled. It was probably just as well they’d been interrupted. It wasn’t decent to be seducing her again, so soon after a funeral, so soon after her first time. At this hour of the morning. When she was already dressed.

Tomorrow. Or perhaps tonight.

“It might be easier to use the porte-crayon with the movement of the ship,” she said thoughtfully.

He took out a silver porte-crayon, shaved the lead to a fine point with his penknife, and gave it to her.

“Pretty,” she said, examining it. “Papa had one very similar.” She looked from one to the other. “But this traveling pen and ink holder is so ingenious I can’t resist using it. Besides, it is more polite to respond in ink, is it not?”

“True.” There was something very endearing in the way she was fussing over a few simple thank-you notes. He pulled the quill from the container, trimmed the nib, and handed it to her.

She thought for a moment, dipped the pen carefully in the inkwell, and began to write with a firm, clear hand. He smiled, recalling how she’d once pretended she couldn’t read.

He glanced at her, frowning with concentration as she penned her thank-you notes, smiling to herself and glancing across at him with such a pleased and happy expression it moved him deeply.

If he hadn’t fallen ill, he might never have known her, not as he did now. Extraordinary to be grateful for a fever that had nearly killed him. Without that he might not have even thought of marriage.

But he had, and he’d proposed and now she’d—finally!—accepted, he wanted it done. The knot firmly tied.

He moved to the window and stared out at the sea with its gleaming, white-capped waves. He wanted this journey over, he wanted this business settled, once and for all. This business. His marriage.