Uncovering the Merchant's Secret

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  ‘I was looking for you. To say farewell.’

  ‘We already said goodbye,’ Blanche said. ‘It didn’t end particularly well if you can recall it.’

  Her expression was as cold as her voice, with disdain in her eyes, though her cheeks were beginning to blaze red.

  ‘That’s why I came. It wasn’t the farewell we should have had. I wanted to see you again,’ Jack said. ‘I can never say goodbye to you too many times. I have so few memories you can surely forgive me for wanting to create more, however sad they make me feel.’

  Blanche frowned. ‘Being with me made you sad?’

  ‘Leaving you makes me sad. Being with you gives me more joy than I thought possible.’

  ‘You’ve got a tongue of silver,’ Blanche said. Her cheeks flushed, but a little of the ire in her eyes faded.

  ‘Will you pardon me?’ Jack asked.

  Her eyes flickered. She bit her lip. Jack held his breath.

  ‘You’ve forgiven me so many times,’ she said. ‘It would be churlish of me not to extend you the same courtesy on this occasion.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jack said.

  ‘Perhaps I would like a better farewell, too.’

  A small smile played about Blanche’s lips. Instinct told him she wanted him as much as he wanted her, physically at least, even if the emotion that filled his heart wasn’t reciprocated as deeply. She had said often enough she didn’t want a husband, but a man to satisfy her needs was a different matter, and he was more than willing to be that man.

  ‘I wanted to ask you something,’ Jack said. The mention of his departure reminded him of why he had come searching for her. ‘I’m still leaving tomorrow but that doesn’t mean I can’t return. If you’d like me to, that is.’

  He looked at Blanche expectantly.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To see you again.’ He stroked her arm, feeling her skin flutter in answer to the beating of his heart, which leapt to life as he touched her. ‘To be with you.’

  She watched him with uncertainty in her eyes.

  ‘Blanche, I care for you deeply. Don’t you realise that? This afternoon wasn’t just about making love. It was about more than just gratifying our physical desires. For me, at least. Is it wrong to hope that you care for me, too?’

  Blanche put her palm on his chest, causing fires to ignite within him. ‘Jack I do...care for you. But your life is in England.’

  ‘What if it isn’t?’ he said. Her hesitation plagued him. Had she been about to say more, or less than care? ‘What if I get there and find there were good reasons for me leaving beyond Margaret’s death?’

  ‘What if you don’t?’ She eyed him seriously. ‘Don’t make any promises until you know.’

  He slid his hand down her arm and watched her shiver. She looked away and he thought he had pushed her too hard. Or maybe he had misjudged her feelings.

  ‘If I were to offer you my heart, would you accept it?’ he asked.

  She looked back at him. ‘Would you expect me to marry you? I’ve told you I don’t want another husband.’

  She was like a bird that would die if caged. Jack did want to marry her now she had spoken the word, but like a bird, if he clutched too tightly she would fly from him.

  ‘Would you want a lover?’ he said. ‘For as long as we both choose to be with each other. Whatever I did in my former life brought me to France. Could I be a part of your life when I’m here?’

  ‘You think you know me but we’ve spent so little time together. You may decide you don’t like me after all.’

  ‘Life is a risk,’ Jack said. ‘You told me it took you time to remember how to live after you were widowed. We can learn together.’

  Blanche put her arms around herself. Jack couldn’t remember seeing her looking so vulnerable. He wanted to lift the cares from her shoulders.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Blanche looked at the floor. ‘I hear your offer and I feel like it is pulling me towards a cliff edge. I worry that to accept it would be leaping out over the whirlpool and plunging to the rocks below.’

  So she wanted to. Jack put a hand to her face, lifting it so he could see her eyes. They were brimming with uncertainty.

  ‘My love is not the whirlpool,’ he whispered. ‘It is the light on the shore that guides you to safety.’

  He ran his hands up her arms from wrist to shoulder then slipped them round her back and down to settle in the curve at the space of her spine.

  ‘A silver tongue,’ she repeated with a sigh.

  ‘Let me stay with you tonight,’ he breathed. ‘Decide in the morning.’

  She wound her arms around his waist, edging closer until their hips brushed, causing Jack to shiver with suppressed lust. He growled softly in the back of his throat and Blanche’s smile grew more sensual as she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him slowly. She dragged her fingers down his back and up again, her nails scraping as they reached his neck and he grew hard. A groan escaped his throat, muffled against her soft neck. Blanche opened her eyes and smiled at him with the same wanton look that had driven him wild on the clifftop. The raw longing and wildness in her eyes sent blood rushing through him.

  Her fingers were already pulling determinedly at the tapes at his waist to free him and though he strained against the constricting cloth, he covered her hand, staying the motion. When they’d coupled on the clifftop it had been a frantic, purely carnal act. They hadn’t even had the self-control to undress before hurling themselves at each other. Now he intended to savour the experience. Blanche was used to being in charge and there had been enough times Jack had been under her control. Now he intended to redress the balance a little.

  ‘Slowly,’ he commanded. ‘We have all night. We’re not going to touch each other like that until we’re both naked and lying atop those furs.’

  Blanche’s black eyes gleamed and she nodded meekly. She put her lips close to his ear. ‘Then you had better help me. I’m wearing a lot of clothes.’

  She held her arms out wide to the sides and her eyes flickered to her girdle, held in place by a semicircular buckle.

  ‘Undress me, please, Jack.’

  Jack grinned. As he had suspected, this was a new experience for her and he intended to take his time. He unbuckled the girdle slowly and let it fall to the floor, easing the heavy velvet mantle over her shoulders. Her sleeves were narrow at the wrist, four buttons on each. One arm at a time, Jack undid them with hands that trembled. He regarded the veins in her wrists as though they were the most sensual sight in the world. He lifted her hand and blew a long, measured breath over the delicate flesh and heard her sigh. He moved around behind her, hands travelling slowly across her form until he was able to loosen the laces and slip her gown down until it fell to the floor. She stood clad only in her cream shift. His final act was to draw the combs one by one from her hair until it fell tumbling free. He couldn’t resist running his fingertip down the nape of her neck and she dropped her head back, moaning.

  ‘I want you now.’

  Jack burned to touch her but instead he stepped back and gave her a stern look.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘My turn.’

  She looked back at him over her shoulder then turned around and circled him, slipping her arms around him from behind and easing the jerkin from his shoulders then lifting the tunic over his head. The exhilaration consuming him deepened. Undressing Blanche had been erotic, but to stand submissively while she returned the favour was even more arousing.

  He only had to help when it came to removing his boots, balancing on one foot in turn while Blanche tugged them off and threw it behind her with a cry of victory. They smiled at each other, eyes laughing. When Jack was clad only in his hose, Blanche dropped to one knee before him and resumed untying the tapes at his waist, her eyes never leaving his. He was panting like a virgin on his wedding night
, hot and agitated, by the time she slid the hose down his legs and he stood naked before her.

  He wanted her to stay down there, to take him in her hands, in her mouth. He wanted to lift her and fill her, to claim her as his own.

  She solved the dilemma by standing and slipping her arms around his neck and drawing him into a kiss. He put his hands on her buttocks and lifted her bodily, backing her towards the bed with her legs around his waist. By the time he had laid her down, he was so hard and desperate for her that obeying his own dictate to be unhurried would be a challenge. They kissed slowly, arms about each other, hands stroking and exploring, teasingly light and hungrily firm.

  Jack ran his hands over the length of Blanche’s body, feeling the contours through the thin cloth. She was not yet naked and the hidden secrets were a torment.

  ‘Take this off,’ he said, sliding his hand beneath the neck and running his hand over her shoulder.

  He saw a warning in Blanche’s eyes that made him hesitate and lift his hands away.

  ‘I’m not a young woman, Jack,’ she said. ‘I’ve borne children and had pregnancies. I might not be what you hope for.’

  How could she even think for a moment that was a concern? The frankness was what he had come to expect but the self-consciousness was startling and at odds with the Blanche he had grown to treasure. A rush of protectiveness filled him. Whatever she pretended, she was more vulnerable than she liked to show.

  ‘I want to see you,’ he said. ‘All of you. I want to feel you, taste you...’

  He knelt between her legs and put his hands beneath her shift, sliding them up the length of her legs and teasing the garment higher and higher. The scent of her filled his nostrils, spinning his head and waking the remaining senses that still lay dormant. He forgot about being slow and dragged the shift up and off her, then gazed at her naked form.

  Her waist was slender but her belly was soft and slightly plump. It bore the trace of fine lines where the skin had stretched as she had carried her babies. There were similar lines beneath her breasts and across her thighs. They were lighter in colour, silvery in the moonlight against her creamy skin. To Jack they were beautiful—nothing like the red lesions that crisscrossed Jack’s chest from the rocks. He traced the outline of her belly with his fingertip, causing Blanche to shiver.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ he said. He kissed her. First on the lips. Then between her breasts. Then on the round mound of her belly. She sighed and spread her limbs out. Jack’s lips continued downwards slowly and methodically, kissing the lines beneath her belly, then down between her legs. Only when Blanche was whimpering and her fingernails threatened to tear the skin from his back as she pulled him towards her did Jack permit himself to satisfy the desires that consumed him, too.

  * * *

  When he woke, Jack was disoriented. When he looked towards the window the light was brighter than he was used to in his room. He couldn’t locate himself at first and the panic that had first descended on him when he awoke after the shipwreck threatened to return.

  Blanche lay beside him, face down, her black hair spread across her naked back and one arm crooked up around her face. Jack’s eyes followed the length of her spine down to the covers that lay jumbled around her hips. The shape of her buttocks and thighs rising beneath the sheet was enough to bring him out in a sweat.

  He should get out of bed and dress. It was daybreak and Nevez’s ship would be leaving on the morning tide. Jack would need to hurry to make his way to Benestin in time to meet him. The longer he stayed here, the harder it would be to leave Blanche.

  He had been wrong to come here last night. Wrong to make love to her again, but he’d been unable to resist the pull towards her. Deep warmth spread through Jack, stirring more than his cock. It spread throughout his limbs and plucked at his heart. This was where he should be. With Blanche. In her bed and arms.

  Blanche stirred and half rolled over. Her eyes focused on Jack and she stiffened as she realised she had a bedfellow, then her body relaxed and she gave him a sultry smile. She rolled fully on to her back and pulled the coverlet up, concealing herself.

  Jack plucked at a stray thread.

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Yes, you do. You don’t want to miss your tide.’

  Blanche craned her head and Jack bent to kiss her. Only briefly, because if he allowed himself to indulge to the extent he wanted to, he would never be able to leave the room. She was stronger than he and pushed him away gently, ending the kiss.

  ‘Please come back when you can,’ she said. ‘I would be glad to see you.’

  Jack squeezed her hand, heart swelling. He climbed out of bed and walked to the window. He was naked but no one could see him from the courtyard. He didn’t remember his marriage to Margaret being so free of inhibitions but she’d been younger and modest. There was nothing that would come between him and Blanche. Nothing they could do that would cause shame or censure. Freedom stretched before him thrillingly and he knew his decision was made.

  He looked at the jewel case and wondered if that was where she had kept his cross and pushed the thought away. He had left it in his room rather than wear it to come up to Blanche’s room. Had he been intent on seduction from the start? He was honest enough to admit it to himself that he had nurtured those hopes. Beside the jewel case stood an open pot of some waxy substance. He sniffed it and caught a trace of the scent Blanche wore. He breathed it in, storing the smell in his memory. He’d be able to see her as soon as he brought it to mind.

  His clothes lay strewn across the floor, mingled with Blanche’s where they had undressed each other. He stooped to pick them up and as he bent he spotted the heel of a boot peeping from behind the folding screen. He walked towards it, wondering how it had been thrown so far. Blanche cried a warning to stop but by then he had found himself behind the panel and bent to retrieve the boot.

  It wasn’t his. It was too small to fit his foot, but was a man’s boot, none the less. He looked at it in confusion, not understanding who it could belong to. Blanche was standing before him with the bed sheet wrapped around herself. Her face was white and her eyes were wild.

  ‘I told you to stop!’

  Jack looked around and his eye fell on a folded bundle with a hat on top and his heart seemed to stop with an almost audible thud.

  He recognised the hat and cloak. They belonged to Bleiz Mor. His heart gave a painful thump, lurching back into life. The man’s clothes were folded alongside Blanche’s, clearly belonging there. He unfolded the cloak and saw the mummer’s mask.

  ‘You lied to me,’ he said. He picked up the mask. The wolf’s face grinned up at him. ‘You told me there was nothing between you and Bleiz Mor, yet I find his clothes in your room.’

  Blanche strode forward and snatched the mask from his hands.

  ‘Is this why no one is allowed here?’ Jack asked. ‘Is the Sea Wolf your lover?’

  To his astonishment, Blanche began to laugh, holding the mask to her breast, her eyes shut tight. Her shoulders heaved and Jack realised to his horror that the gulps were turning into sobs. A nagging sense that he had misunderstood the situation grew inside him. She had always been at such pains to point out she had no lovers. Was she an unwilling participant in whatever took place?

  Cautiously, he reached out and took her by the shoulders. She did not protest as he drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her until she was pressed tightly against him. The scent of her perfume and the feel of her against him sent a rush of desire coursing through him.

  ‘Does he force you? Say the word and I will kill him.’

  ‘Kill him? Oh, Jack.’ Blanche raised her head and looked into Jack’s eyes. She bit her lip. ‘You still don’t understand, do you?’

  ‘Then tell me,’ he urged. He ran his thumb along the ridge of her cheekbone, capturing a stray tear and erasing the tracks.

  A haunted l
ook crossed her face.

  ‘The Sea Wolf is not my lover.’

  He looked at the mask that Blanche was twisting around in her hands and he understood what he had been missing. Another stitch in the tapestry. He raised his head slowly and met her eyes. She knew what he had guessed.

  ‘It’s you, isn’t it.’ He had to force the words from his throat. ‘You are Bleiz Mor.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jack’s complexion had become as grey as when he was close to death. His eyes brimmed with hurt and anger.

  ‘You have lied to me about everything!’

  ‘Everything I told you before was the truth,’ Blanche protested. ‘I walked to Paris and claimed Yann’s body. I worked my way back. You know how I supported myself on the journey and how I raised the money I needed to buy my home.’ She raised her chin and put her hands on her hips, looking deep into his eyes. ‘I told you then I am not ashamed of what I did, and I refuse to be judged by anyone for that.’

  ‘But you didn’t tell me the whole truth, did you.’ Jack’s voice was a snarl that tore into Blanche’s chest, ripping it open and exposing her heart to the cold air.

  ‘No. I didn’t.’

  ‘Why did you do it? Once you were home?’

  ‘I’ve told you that, too. Bleiz Mor sails for revenge. I bought the house, and I fitted out the ships. I cannot bring my husband back but I will send every man to join him that I can. We fought for the same cause and I have not stopped fighting because he is dead.’

  At the word she felt the iron returning to her blood, strengthening her. ‘The French have ravaged Brittany, destroying lives and families. I will do everything in my power to stop them.’

  She gripped the mask, grinding it in her fists. ‘The country is divided, Jack. How can it heal when the two factions believe such opposing things? We know who our rightful Duke is, but rich and powerful men insist on twisting events until they get what they want. Now I have the means to redress some of the wrongs, I use them.’

  ‘By fighting and killing?’ Jack asked. Now his voice had more scorn than she had heard when she described her whoring.