Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  “I was told that, if you knew, it would mean your hanging if the dispatches were discovered,” she said, her voice hard, her gaze on his face, which was dark with rage and passion.

  “How laudable, so unselfish,” he jeered. “Do you think they would have believed for a single instant that I did not know the woman who shared my cabin was a courier?”

  “It’s true, I tell you. As for the sharing of your cabin, I didn’t think how it would look. I never meant to—”

  “Now, we come to the truth, do we? You never intended to come to me. You thought you could sneak on board and stay hidden all the way here, I suppose?”

  “I didn’t think at all! There was no time!” she said, her voice rising.

  He threw the packet onto the bunk and caught her arms, dragging her against him. “I thought you came because you felt the same pull of obsession for me I feel when I look at you, because you couldn’t stay away, any more than I can stay away from you. That makes me a fine fool, doesn’t it?”

  “No, Ramon, listen to me—”

  “Well, as long as you’re laughing, add this to it,” he grated, his eyes dark with derision. “Even knowing what you have done, the one thing I feel like doing at this moment is to take you to bed and make love to you until you beg me to stop.”

  “Love?” She infused scorn into her voice despite the trembling that ran through her. “You only want to punish me.”

  “You think so? Either way, I want to feel you naked and writhing under me, to watch your face while I am inside you, to see you lose control.”

  She stared at him, trying to ignore the tide of color that rose to her hairline. “What would that solve?”

  “Nothing. Isn’t it a good thing that there is nothing to be solved, that you have brought your dispatches through and we are safe in Wilmington, that it doesn’t matter anymore what I think or feel, only what I want?”

  She watched as if mesmerized as, with his black eyes burning into hers, he lowered his head to take her lips. At the last moment, she turned her head. His mouth seared her cheek, moving to the curve of her neck. “You … you are angry with me,” she said with a catch in her voice, “and I don’t blame you, but you can’t do this.”

  “Who will stop me?”

  “I … I’ll fight you.”

  His voice soft, his breath warm just beneath her ear, he said, “Is that what you did while you were down here with the naval lieutenant?”

  She jerked away so violently that she broke his grasp, but he was upon her in an instant, catching her shoulders. She brought her hands up to throw off his grasp, but he swung her around, sending hatboxes flying as he thrust her against the wall and pinned her there with his body. She suppressed a cry.

  “I have never felt such cold fear in my life as when he was sent below with you with the order he was given. He had carte blanche to treat you as he saw fit, even encouragement to do it. I wasn’t close enough to overhear what passed between him and his commanding officer when he returned the first time, but I made a point of being there for the second. “Nothing discovered in the body search or internal examination, sir,” was his report, and he nearly died for those words. He would have, if Slick and Chris and Frazier had not been close enough to keep me from going for his throat.”

  The images his words evoked filled her with distress, but she would not let him see. “How can you blame me?”

  “Oh, I didn’t, not until I came down here and found the two of you chatting and smiling, as cozy as two old maids at a tea party.”

  There were shafts of gold in the depths of his eyes, and his lashes were tangled from the wind. The lines radiating toward his temples were tight with strain. In sudden discovery, she said, “You were jealous.”

  “Why not? I’m not in the habit of sharing my women.”

  The arrogance of his tone, the neat way he had sidestepped her accusation, sent anger flaring through her. “I’m not one of your women!”

  “You are for now, and until we get back to Nassau if you expect to make the return in the Lorelei. But, you haven’t answered my question: What happened between you and the lieutenant?”

  “Nothing,” she snapped. “Less than has happened between us since you came barging in here.”

  “Tell me about it.” The command was harsh, permitting no denial.

  She obeyed, stressing the sensitivity of the federal officer, his concern for her modesty, and his honorable conduct. Some of the tension left him, but even through her full skirts she could sense the heat of his need, sense the violence that drove him.

  “You are sure? You would not change the facts out of embarrassment — or fear?”

  I would not! Why should I be afraid of you or care what you think?”

  A grim smile crossed his face at her defiance. “It would be as well if you could bring yourself to both.”

  She did not dignify that comment with an answer. Staring him straight in the eyes, she asked, “If you were so certain he had mistreated me, why did you let him go?”

  “You asked it so prettily, and it was a means of being rid of him — there always being the chance that you enjoyed his … treatment. Then, there was the strong possibility that he would drown.”

  She drew a swift breath, her gray eyes silvery with rage. “Just because I once let you make love to me without screaming or falling away in a dead faint doesn’t mean I accept the same from any man!”

  “No? Why should I consider myself special?”

  “You know why. You know—” She couldn’t speak past the sudden hurtful tightness in her throat, the burgeoning of pain that he could doubt her, that it was necessary to defend herself to him.

  His gaze dropped to her lips, moist and parted, tremulous at the corners. “Yes,” he said, his voice deep, threaded with weariness, “I know.”

  He lowered his head, taking her mouth, molding it to the hard contours of his own, thrusting past her defenses to a deep and complete possession. His hand moved downward to brush the firm roundness of her breast beneath the muslin of her bodice, outlining it, testing its soft resilience before closing his hand upon it. The pressure of his kiss lessened. His mouth moved upon hers, questing, urging a response. By degrees, as if compelled, she gave it. She spread her hands upon the rough cloth of his uniform jacket, sliding them upward, touching the strong column of his neck with her fingertips as she pressed herself against him.

  A knock sounded on the door. Hard on it came Chris’s voice. “Orders to dock, Captain!”

  Ramon’s imprecation was soft, but vivid before he released her, stepping back. He moved to the door. With his hand on the handle, he turned. In his dark eyes was a smoldering promise. “We will finish this later. Remember it.”

  How could she forget it? The thought of it remained with her as she dressed in her walking costume of tan d’or, put the oilskin packet into her purse, and went back up on deck. It lingered in the back of her mind as she waited for her chance to leave the ship, and also as she took it. It hampered her concentration as she made her way to Governor Dudley’s mansion. For the few minutes necessary for her to relinquish the precious packet into safe hands, she was free of it, but it returned to haunt her once she was back on the streets again. So persistent was it, she was quite unable to feel the relief she had expected at being done with the task appointed her.

  She did not want to go back to the ship. She wandered about the streets as the afternoon waned, watching the once familiar activities: a maid sweeping off the front steps with deliberate strokes, a gardener pulling weeds from a border; a pair of boys in short breeches, rolling a carriage wheel down the street and chased by a trio of dogs of no discernible breed. Through a doorway, thrown open to the air, she saw a group of women busily at work, obviously a sewing circle, though the material that lay across their laps was the gray of Confederate uniforms. Away from the residential area, nearing the waterfront once more, she paused before the window of a bakery displaying breakfast rolls, arrowroot crackers, and pilot bread;
of a druggist advertising dye stuffs, perfumery, and soaps, as well as the filling of prescriptions from medical men. She glanced, too, at the display window of a “Photographic Room” where could be had photographic portraiture of every known style, beautifully colored in oil, pastel, watercolor, or India ink. Farther along, her attention was caught by the shop of M. N. Katz, who offered staple and fancy dry goods, including silks, merinos, alpacas, and French millinery, also Balmoral and hoop skirts, double elliptical skirts, and mourning and fancy veils, with prices quoted in gold and Confederate scrip. His stock did not seem much less complete than was average before the war had begun. It appeared that the blockade had not made that great an impression here as yet, or else M. Katz was a preferred client of the blockade runners.

  “What do you fancy? A length of silk? A clutch of feathers for a bonnet? Or how about the seed pearl collar to hide a scraggly neck? Oh, I do beg your pardon, Madame. The last would be most inappropriate!”

  “Peter, you idiot,” she said, a smile rising to her eyes and sounding in her voice even as she turned. It died away as she faced the Englishman-and Ramon, who stood at his side.

  “True, I must accept the title,” Peter replied somberly though with a gleam in his eye, “but even the best of us have these failings. Forgetfulness seems to be yours. I do wish you had told my friend here where you were off to; he’s made a damned nuisance out of himself beating my quarters and looking in my pockets for you.”

  She sent a quick glance at Ramon’s stiff features. “Yes, I suppose I should have.”

  “Definitely you should have. On the other hand, if he means to keep you, he should either use a longer rein or else refrain from frightening you into flight.” The concern and the query were there, couched in his easy banter.

  “It wasn’t like that. I … I had a message to deliver.”

  “Oh, I see. If I had known you had business in Wilmington, I would have been happy to have you travel on the Bonny Girl. She’s a fine lass, my ship, but you would have been an ornament to her.” He paused only a fraction of a moment for an answer and, when it did not come, went on without missing a beat.

  “But, that’s neither here nor there. I find my fellow countrymen have rented a house to use during their time in Wilmington, a place where they plan to hold revel this evening, following the performance of the Thalian Association at the market house. I am told the quality of the play-acting will be near professional, so high, in fact, that the officers from the federal fleet have been threatening to sneak into town to see the show. The bill features the bard’s Taming of the Shrew. I don’t expect a great deal of a Katharina with a languid southern drawl; still, it should be entertaining. Will you do us the honor of joining us, both of you?”

  “I don’t know,” Lorna began, glancing at Ramon.

  His dark gaze raked her face before he turned to fling a look at his friend. “We will be delighted.”

  “Good,” Peter said, flashing a smile. “We will have supper after the play, so you need not worry about that. You can walk to the market house, and to our little pied-a-terre afterward, or a carriage can be arranged. There is still an amazing number of equipages around with fine horseflesh not yet commandeered by the army.”

  “We will walk — that is, if this house you mad Englishmen have rented isn’t too far from the theater?” Ramon said, his tone casual.

  “No more than a step or two, just far enough to stretch your legs after sitting.”

  He nodded and stepped to offer his arm to Lorna, who took it automatically. “We will see you there, then.”

  “Yes, see you there,” Peter repeated, but his voice had a deflated sound as he watched Ramon turn with Lorna back toward the ship. He stood, still looking after them, until the downward slope of the street hid them from sight.

  Lorna felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach as they neared the Lorelei. She glanced up at the man strolling beside her, aware of the corded muscle of his arm beneath her fingers and the controlled strength of his movements. She could not help wondering if now was the time when they would finish what they had begun, while they were supposed to be dressing for the evening before them. Did she want it, or did she not? She could not decide, but neither could she deny the sense of perilous anticipation that rushed through her veins.

  At the gangplank, he faced her. “This. is one more thing that will have to be accounted for, soon.”

  She saw little use in pretending to misunderstand. “I had something of importance to attend to, as you well know. There was no point, and considerable danger, in dragging anyone else into it.”

  “You might have mentioned it.”

  “You might have guessed,” she countered. “It was a responsibility, one I had to meet myself. In any case, would you have let me go alone?”

  He reached to take her hand, smoothing his thumb over the backs of her fingers. His voice was quiet as he spoke. “So independent. What will you do when you discover that in this world you need a man?”

  “The same as other women, I expect.” She had already made that discovery, but she did not intend that he should know it.

  “You aren’t like other women.”

  “Of course I am,” she said tartly.

  “No.” He dropped her hand and stepped back. “I still have a few things to attend to before the evening. I will join you in a little while for the walk to the theater. Wait for me.”

  He gave her no chance to answer, but swung and strode away. So abrupt was his manner, and so disturbing, that Lorna did not watch him. Snatching up her skirts, she boarded the ship and swept below to the cabin.

  Her mind seethed with the things she should have said, with angry accusations and bitter reminders. At the same time, she found herself standing suspended, the compliment he had paid her running through her mind. He was an infuriating man, blowing hot and cold. What did he want of her? He had given no indication that he had changed his mind concerning a permanent relationship, therefore he must want her as his mistress. He felt something for her, though it might be no more than a case of snatching at the morsel the other dogs were fighting over.

  What a revolting comparison. She shook her head and went to fling herself down on the bunk, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Was a man necessary to her? Could she, perhaps, learn to be as independent as he had called her? There must be something she could do to earn her way, to provide a roof over her head and food to eat without having to depend on Ramon’s bounty or the favor of any other man. She was a fair seamstress; Aunt Madelyn had seen to that by requiring that she help with the mending and occupy any leisure time that might have been spent in idleness on fine embroidery. She spoke fair French but, due to her aunt’s indifference to learning for females after the age of twelve, had not the grounding in other subjects that might be expected of a governess. She was strong and had no objection to work. She could scrub, take in laundry, anything.

  The light inside the cabin grew dim with the approach of dusk. Noting it, finally, Lorna sprang up and moved to the door, calling for Cupid to arrange for a bath. Still, even when it had arrived and she had settled into the copper hip bath filled with fresh, not salt, water, the nagging question would not go away. What did Ramon expect of her now? That she would occupy his bed, forfeiting all claim to respectability, holding herself at his beck and call? Did he expect her to be satisfied with the gratification of her desires, enthralled by his masterly sway over them?

  And if she could abandon self-respect and be what he expected, what then? Obsessed, he had called himself. Was it so, or was it merely that his possession of her had been complicated from the beginning, that she had spurned him, then used him as no other woman had dared do? How long would his need for her last? What would become of her when it faded?

  In the strict social sphere in which she had moved all her life, there was no place for a woman who had been kept by a man without the sanction of marriage. She would be forced to take a lower position, to go on catering to the desires of men, to beco
me a woman of the shadows. To think that Ramon would casually demand that sacrifice of her brought rage rising to her brain; more than that, it brought anguish.

  She was still crouched in the short tub with its sloping back and brass handles, when he returned. He stopped just inside the door as he saw her, then came into the cabin more slowly, closing the panel behind him. He lifted a brow, a faint smile at one corner of his mouth as he crossed to the bunk and sat down.

  “Are you about finished?” he inquired, his voice mild. “I could use a quick rinse myself.”

  “Yes, you can have it, though you had better ring for more water.”

  “I’ll use yours.”

  It was amazing, the sense of intimacy his words suggested. From beneath lowered lashes, she watched as he pulled off his boots and began to undo the buttons of his jacket. There had been little chance for moments such as this in the time since they had left Nassau. After that first night, Ramon had been constantly on duty, snatching only interrupted moments of sleep. It had not been a great deal different on the run from New Orleans; always there had been the need for vigilance. What would it be like, she wondered, to see him completely relaxed and at ease? What would it be like to see love on his face instead of the dark desire for revenge or the brooding need of possessive jealousy?

  Her thoughts were so disturbing that she surged to her feet, reaching for her towel. It was snatched from under her fingers. Ramon, wearing only his trousers, stood holding the width of Turkish toweling, ready to wrap her in its folds. As long as she stood up to her knees in water in the bath, he was enjoying watching her, his black gaze moving over the wet curves of her body, resting on the froth of bubbles that glided slowly, with the rivulets of water pouring down her, along the shapely turn of the inside of her thigh.