To Catch a Bride

by Anne Gracie

  “You didn’t force me intentionally, but you showed that picture to so many people, some people noticed the resemblance. Someone made a joke that they should dress me as a girl and sell me to you. And once that joke started to spread . . . well, the men who’d pursued me as a child put two and two together and came after me. Again.”

  He gave her an intense look. “Those men at the riverbank?”

  She nodded. “The leader, Gadi’s uncle, was one of the ones my mother cursed.” She gave a wry, mirthless smile. “I couldn’t stay in Egypt any longer.”

  “You could have told me the truth then. I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

  “And would you have taken me to my grandmother’s?”

  “Of course. Why not?”

  He hadn’t had as much time as she had to think things through, Ayisha saw. “Because she sent you to fetch her beloved granddaughter, Alicia Cleeve, not some illegitimate brat her son sired on his foreign mistress.”

  She waited, but he remained silent, his face graven in its stillness.

  “Forgive me if I’m wrong,” she said, “but aristocratic grandmothers don’t generally scour the world looking for any stray bastards their son has sired—or has the England of my father changed?”

  There was a long silence. She wished she could tell what he was thinking but his eyes had gone that unreadable, opaque, ice blue.

  “No,” he said slowly. “England hasn’t changed that much.”

  The knock on the cabin door startled them both, mercifully breaking the silence. It was Higgins with breakfast. Rafe carried in the tray and uncovered it. Bacon and eggs, toast with marmalade or honey, and a large pot of fresh, hot Italian coffee. There was even a fish head for Cleo, who showed her approval of the treat by dragging it behind her basket and growling over it.

  Ayisha felt hollow. He’d just confirmed all her fears. The illegitimate daughter of Sir Henry Cleeve would be of no interest to her grandmother. Or to him.

  She took a deep breath. So be it. She had started a new life as a child on the streets. She could do it again in England.

  “What would you like first?” Rafe asked her, “Food or coffee?” Gallant to the end. As if she hadn’t just confessed she’d deceived him.

  The scent of the coffee teased Ayisha’s senses and suddenly she was starving. “Coffee to start with, please.”

  He poured her a cup of steaming dark coffee, stirred in two lumps of sugar and some milk, and placed the cup in her hands. He knew exactly how she liked it. How did he know that?

  She inhaled, then sipped it slowly. Ambrosial. The hot liquid flowed into her and she felt steadier. And hungrier.

  He passed her a plate of bacon and eggs. “Eat up,” he told her. “You need food after all you’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours.”

  He was right. Her mind, her heart felt bruised all over, so much had happened in the last day—and night. Pirates, death, her first experience with a man—probably the last with this one—funerals, and exposure of her deception.

  And she hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday. No wonder she was starving.

  She hoped to God she wasn’t with child.

  “Bacon, at long last,” he said approvingly. He ate with a neat energy, tidily but with gusto. Throughout the meal, he politely ensured she had everything she needed: salt, more coffee. He even buttered her toast, then passed her the honey.

  “Malta is famous for its honey,” he told her. “Its bees are black and fierce, but the honey is tangy and sweet. Try it.”

  She spread some of the golden honey on the toast. It was indeed delicious. Wild thyme and citrus and something spicy.

  It was good she’d told him now, she decided, as she ate the last of her toast. It would have been better if she’d told him before they made love. Better still if they’d never made love at all.

  No. She couldn’t honestly regret that. To leave him, never having known what it was like to lie with him, feel him deep within her, part of her . . . Her body still throbbed with faint echoes of the night.

  Magnificent, just as Laila had said.

  She watched him as he crunched his way through the last piece of toast with strong, white, even teeth, and she knew that even though she was grieving deep inside for what might have been, even though sharp arrows of regret pierced her at odd moments, telling him the truth had been the right thing to do.

  He was clean and straight and honorable.

  If she hadn’t told him, the secret would slowly, inevitably have poisoned their marriage. Some people could bury their guilt and go on. Not Ayisha.

  It would have been like an ax poised over her head the whole time, waiting to drop. Better a swift, clean amputation than a slow death by poison, she told herself.

  It was the right thing to do: it didn’t make her feel any better.

  She loved him. She’d lost him. But at least she’d had him for one night.

  “Finished?” he asked.

  She glanced at the table, puzzled. There was nothing left. He gently pried the empty coffee cup from her hand. She’d been clutching it to her breast like a child.

  He packed the tray up, ready for when Higgins came back. Were all soldiers so neat? she wondered.

  “I always knew there was something you weren’t telling me,” he said, almost conversationally. “I’m glad to know it at last—and before we get to England.”

  It confirmed her worst fears. “What will you do when we get there?” she asked him.

  “To England? It’ll depend on the weather. I’ll probably hire a carriage and postilion.”

  A postilion was a man who rode carriage horses and steered the carriage, she knew. “I’ll travel alone then?”

  “Alone? Of course not.” He frowned. “Why would you imagine I’d let you travel all that way alone?”

  She just looked at him. “I wasn’t certain you’d even want to take me to Cleeveden.”

  “Good God, what do you take me for? Did you think I’d just dump you at Southampton and let you fend for yourself?” His voice was cool.

  She made an embarrassed gesture. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Well, I won’t.” He looked down his long nose at her and as always she wished she knew what he was thinking. “Are you worrying about how your grandmother is going to react when you tell her you’re not Alicia?”

  “Of course I am, what do you think?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know your grandmother very well, so I can’t give you any guarantees about how she will receive you, but she struck me as a warmhearted woman.”

  “Is she?” she said politely. Meaning she didn’t believe it.”

  “Yes, and if you want my opinion, I think she’ll love you on sight.”

  She blinked at that. “You do?”

  “I do. In any case, there’s no use worrying about something before it happens. All you can do is prepare yourself for the worst and get on with living in the present. Old soldier’s trick. Don’t look forward, don’t look back. Just live.”

  “And wait until you’re shot,” she muttered under her breath.

  “No, make alternative plans, just in case,” he said. “The thing is not to dwell on what you can’t change and to concentrate on what you can.”

  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.

  Eighteen

  It 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?”