‘Why don’t you tell me? I suspect our stories aren’t terribly different at their core.’ That was probably an outright lie. She wasn’t protecting a twin from an unthinkable scandal, but it was time to turn the tables. He couldn’t sustain this pseudo-truth telling much longer. ‘What compels a lady of your background to leave the comforts of England and throw her virginity away on a pirate rogue she knows little about?’ She tensed at that and he chuckled. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Tell me, were you bored, too, Bryn?’
He’d not said it meanly, but his words were a direct hit all the same, challenging her on so many levels. Her eyes narrowed, her body stiffened as she pulled away from him.
‘I expect nothing from you, Kitt.’ She levered herself up on her elbow, her hair hanging in a chestnut sheet over one shoulder. She looked as tempting as Eve in the garden. His body was thinking of things other than questions. It was thinking how he wanted her again, this time on top of him, her hair falling over her breasts, not Eve, but Godiva riding her steed.
Kitt mustered some self-discipline. He wasn’t fooled. Virgin or not, she knew how to use her assets to advantage. He’d shifted the conversation to her and she was uncomfortable with it. She was trying to retake the offensive, but the truth was he had her on the run. So be it. She wasn’t the only one who wanted something. He wanted answers, too. He felt compromised over the fact she’d not told him she was a virgin, never mind that he’d suspected it. Part of him argued that she should have said something, should have warned him. Why? Would it have made a difference? He knew it wouldn’t have, not at the critical moment.
‘Well, I do expect something. I expect a story. That was our bargain. What are you doing here, Bryn? What are you doing with me?’ He’d turned on his side, propped on his elbow to match her. ‘Who’s the man who drove you to the Caribbean?’
Her eyes dropped and he knew he’d hit a target. ‘Why does it have to be a man?’ She was avoiding a direct answer. It heightened his curiosity. How could it not be? ‘Because you’re beautiful, you’re intelligent, you’re wealthy, all the things a London gentleman is raised to admire.’ He could almost see it written on her face: Of all the questions in the world, he’d had to ask that one.
Bryn shook her head. ‘It’s complicated. I don’t know where to start, really.’
‘Take your time.’ Kitt gave her a lazy smile, but he did not mock her hesitation. ‘I’ve got all afternoon.’ He wanted to know, wanted answers to the puzzle of her. Since he’d met her, there’d been pieces that didn’t fit.
When she spoke, her words came slowly. ‘My mother wanted me to be a lady, the very finest lady, the sort that was beautiful and polished, who knew all the rules, who could command a room with the nod of her head. It was what I was trained for since I turned fourteen. Eventually, I persuaded myself I could do it, that it would be enough.’
‘Why did you need to persuade yourself?’ Kitt watched her, waiting patiently. It struck him that she was putting this together in words for the first time although the thoughts were clearly not new to her. He felt a twinge of guilt. She was being entirely forthcoming with him and he had told her a piecemeal truth.
‘Time was running out.’ She furrowed her brow and ran a finger through the little river of sand separating their blankets while she gathered her thoughts. ‘I’d had my debut at eighteen. It was quite the success. I was supposed to follow it up by making a stunning match the following year—after all, I’d been the toast of the Season. Rutherford girls are never out more than two Seasons. But my mother took ill with consumption. We didn’t go back to London. Instead, we went to the country, we went to the seaside. We went wherever we thought she’d get well. My father and I devoted the next three years to her, to chasing hopes. ‘
Bryn looked up, her grey eyes misty. Kitt swallowed, tempted to make her stop. ‘London and fashionable marriages lost their appeal in the wake of our family tragedy. My father loved her quite intensely. He would have gone to the moon to save her.’
‘And you loved her, too. You wanted to marry for her sake?’ Kitt divined in soft tones. If she’d been willing to give up three prime years of her life, it was not surprising Bryn had been willing to risk her reputation by sailing off with him to preserve her father’s standing. ‘You wanted her to know you were settled and taken care of?’
‘I wanted her dream to come true. She’d invested a good part of her life in me. I thought it was only fitting she be rewarded.’ He saw Bryn’s throat work, trying to fight tears. ‘She was running out of time. My young adult life had been devoted to my parents, naturally. It was just the three of us, it had always been just the three of us. We were close.’
He could understand just what those three words meant and the loss they implied. He’d lost that, too, not just with his family, but with his twin. It was something Ren would never understand. Ren might be half a world away from his family, but they were still there, he was still part of them in a way Kitt would never be a part of his family again, the way Bryn’s family would never be whole again. It was a blow and a comfort all at once to know someone else understood exactly how that felt and he could never tell her.
She looked again, studying him. He must have looked bewildered in his private discovery. ‘Am I making any sense?’
Kitt reached for her hand. ‘Yes, absolutely.’ He could see where the story was headed, how very difficult those last years must have been for a girl of Bryn’s vibrancy, to be limited to accompanying an invalid from post to post when her heart yearned to be out dancing and living and yet her heart was devoted to her family. She would give anything for them.
The truth of his own situation wasn’t much different, but he could not tell her what he’d sacrificed for his family without the risk of making that sacrifice useless. ‘But her dream came at the expense of your own?’ Kitt understood that side of the coin, too. Saving his family had come at a high personal price: guilt and anonymity.
She looked at him, surprised perhaps at the insight. ‘Yes. I was far more wild than she knew and far wilder than I truly understood at the time.’ Bryn smiled. ‘I had a friend, Robin. He and I were wild together. We grew up best friends and we stayed that way. But my mother saw trouble on that particular horizon. She was probably right. I would have married Robin, but she aimed higher for me and our mothers conspired to politely separate us. They understood our relationship was no longer proper. He was a squire’s son, you see, not quite on the same level except in wildness.’
Kitt nodded. ‘Your mother wouldn’t approve of me.’ He had some answers, but he wanted more. What was she doing with him?
Bryn shook her head. ‘I think in her younger days she might have. In my heart, I believe she was wild once, too, although I have no proof for it. That’s the part I never understood. What I remember of her was that she was so perfect, so proper, yet that didn’t match the stories in the village. My parents were something of a local legend. He was the reserved youngest son of the earl who had won the heart of the beautiful Esme Hatfield, a woman who was as high flying as she was lovely. The villagers said she could have had any man, even my father’s sophisticated cousin who was in line for a marquisate. But in the end, true love triumphed. I could never reconcile my mother with that vision of unbridled joie de vivre and it makes me wonder if “true love” exists or if it’s an illusion.’
Kitt threaded his fingers through hers in the sand. ‘Are you a romantic or a cynic, Bryn Rutherford?’ It was hard to tell.
She looked down at where their hands joined. ‘I’ve come to believe that there are no happy-ever-afters for ever, Kitt, just happy-ever-after moments. We should do our best to collect them and enjoy them for what they are and not worry about what happens next. That’s what I’m doing with you. I think you understand that.’
‘I’m not sure if that is a beautifully expressed sentiment or extraordinary cynicism,’ Kitt replied. Which
ever, though, it explained much about her, about the source of her passion, her willingness to give it free rein. ‘Would today qualify as one of those moments?’ Kitt asked softly, aware that the sun was starting to go down on the horizon. They, too, were running out of time. There was an hour at most before they had to return to the boat.
‘Yes.’ Her reply was breathless, her desire shifting her focus from the conversation to other things.
‘Then let’s send it out in style.’ Kitt kissed her hard and dragged her up over his body, ready to do battle with the ghosts of her past. ‘Come ride me, Bryn, I want you.’ This would not be a languorous coupling, there would be no reverence. It would be rough and exciting, an exorcism of the past. He knew what she was doing with him. It was time for her dreams now. She wanted to fly...with him. He could set her free. He only hoped when she came back to earth the landing wouldn’t be too hard.
* * *
He wanted her. The knowledge made her blood fire, made her adventurous as she straddled him, her body poised just above his straining phallus so that its tip could touch her private furrow with the lightest of caresses, creating an exquisite torture for them both as she moved across his tender tip. Her hands splayed on his chest, her thumbs teasing his flat nipples into erectness as he’d teased hers. But Kitt wouldn’t let her play alone for long. His hands slid beneath the long coils of hair hanging over her shoulders to cup the breasts hidden beneath the chestnut curtain.
‘You fit in my hands like you were made for them.’ Kitt groaned, his eyes dilated with the potency of intimate touch. ‘Slide down on me and show this man some mercy, my Godiva.’
She sheathed herself on him, feeling her body stretch, welcoming the strength of his erection. This was glorious and new, to have him deep inside her at her request. This time, she’d taken him and there was power in knowing the journey to pleasure was up to her.
Bryn began to move, slowly at first, exploring the possibilities of this new position. Her muscles contracted and released around him as she slid up and down his length, shuddering each time his phallus passed over the secret place it had found before. Once, twice, three times—the more it passed, the more she wanted it.
She moved on him faster, increasing their pleasure. She was gasping her delight now, Kitt’s head thrown back, his body tight in ecstatic agony as he arched into her, his hands digging into her hips as they surged towards release. When it came, it was explosive and consuming, leaving no doubt this was indeed a moment she would not forget, a thousand sensations to live on for a lifetime.
Chapter Sixteen
Eventually there would be hell to pay for this heaven. She was no fool. But not yet.
She knew what happened to virgins who gave away their virtue. If they were caught. The size of Bryn’s world had shrunk to this ship, this man, this journey. Nothing outside of that mattered. She had everything she needed right here in this cabin, in this bed.
Kitt laughed when she told him, his chest rumbling beneath her ear where she lay against him. ‘The Caribbean does that to a person. It reminds you what matters, what’s truly important. It’s not big houses, or piles of money.’
‘You have both,’ Bryn argued, but not too heatedly. She was content, lulled into drowsiness by the rocking of the boat and the heat of Kitt’s body beside her in the captain’s bed. It was easier to think of here and now than it was to think beyond that. She didn’t want to think of the missing island and what it might mean or what it might mean if she were caught with Kitt. Even if she wasn’t caught, what would happen between the two of them once they returned home? There were to be no expectations, it was what they’d both agreed upon and yet she wouldn’t mind if there were.
‘Yes, I have both, but with the understanding that nature could take both away at any moment. The Caribbean is beautiful and deadly, kind of like a woman,’ Kitt teased. ‘One hurricane, one tidal wave, one disaster and it’s all gone. Talk to any of the natives and they’ll tell you the only way to survive is to live for the present. The future offers no guarantees.’
Was this a carefully veiled warning not to question him about the future? ‘And yet the British have come and planned for a future,’ Bryn said thoughtfully, wondering if she dared risk the question his comment provoked. ‘It’s hard to say who has the right of it.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to want to ask him if he planned for the future or if he counted himself among the natives in that philosophy. It was hard to tell with Kitt. He had forsaken any acknowledgement of the past. Had he done that with the future as well? On the surface, he retained some of the trappings of a future-minded British man—the villa, the investments, the ship, the business—but then he’d make comments indicating he lived his life in a more present-focused fashion. Where did a relationship fit? Did he even have ‘relationships’ the way she and the rest of the world understood them?
‘You’ve gone quiet,’ Kitt prompted. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘You don’t want to know.’ She could hear the drowsiness creeping into his voice. This was not a subject to fall asleep by. Talking about relationships would likely queer the pitch prematurely. The last thing Bryn wanted was for Kitt to become aloof and he most surely would if he thought she had any of those expectations she said didn’t matter.
She let him drift off, content to be in his arms, content to be with her thoughts, to sift through the dazzling events of the day. She’d swum with dolphins and made love to a man on a beach. The next few days promised to be filled with more of the same. But then came the reality. They would go home to Bridgetown and it would be over.
Kitt had made it plain since the beginning he would not play the gentleman. He would not ‘do the right thing’ by her at the end of the voyage, brought up to scratch by feelings of guilt. If he thought she entertained such notions, he’d withdraw entirely and go back to his hammock in the crew quarters. That would be intolerable. There would be an end, but she’d think about that later, much later, and heaven forbid she do anything in the interim to hasten that end. She wanted to hold on to Kitt, to this newly discovered magic, as long as she could.
They’d come back to the boat and eaten a dinner of shellfish and bread in his cabin by the light of a lantern. They’d strolled the deck hand in hand, the crew making themselves absent to give them privacy. Back in the cabin, Kitt had made love to her in his bed, for the third time that day, his stamina for passion meeting the demands of their bodies. He’d warned her she’d be stiff tomorrow and he’d given her a chance to beg off, but she would not hear of it. If there was no guarantee how long this would last, she didn’t want to waste a minute.
She’d not guessed it could be like this. She’d thought passion, once satisfied, would diminish. But with Kitt, she was hungry for more. For the next few days, she could have all she wanted. But what then? That was a dangerous path to travel down. She’d take her moments and leave it at that. She would not think about it. This was a chance to live the philosophy she’d so bravely spouted to Kitt on the beach, to reach for the blithe promises she’d made herself. She would seek moments and not create expectations beyond them. Kitt was the perfect man with whom to explore the efficacy of that new criterion. He had told her bluntly expectations would be useless.
That was fine with her, she’d had enough of gentlemen.
The experience he offered was ideal—meaningful lovemaking without creating those expectations he was so keen to avoid. Bryn looked at the man sleeping beside her, a thought coming to her. He’d got the better part of the deal today. She’d told him more than he’d told her. How much of his desire to avoid expectations rose from his desire to avoid the past? One could hardly build a future without it. The present was different. It didn’t require a past or anything else. The present could sustain the unsustainable: perfection. The very reason for perfection’s success lay in its temporary condition. But it provoked the question: how
did one make a dream last? It was a heady question to fall asleep by. She couldn’t help but feel if she knew the answer to that, she’d know the answer to everything.
* * *
Bryn slept late the next morning, awaking to find the bed empty and her body sore. Not unpleasantly so, it had been well used on sand and sea. She dressed in one of the plain skirts she’d packed, regretfully eschewing the borrowed breeches after the turmoil she’d caused yesterday. She’d miss the freedom of those clothes but she didn’t want to make things difficult for Kitt, even by accident. She borrowed Kitt’s brush and plaited her hair into a thick braid before going out on deck to greet the day and whatever it brought.
That sentiment turned out to be quite optimistic. A man she didn’t know by name was at the helm, Kitt was at the rail with his spyglass, Will Passemore beside him. The snatch of conversation she overheard didn’t sound promising.
‘They picked us up again last night, Captain,’ Passemore was saying. ‘I don’t know if they’re following us or if they’re just sailing in this general direction. The ocean’s free country. It doesn’t have to mean anything.’
‘Given our circumstances, I wouldn’t back that bet.’ Kitt sounded surly.
‘Who’s following us?’ Bryn said brightly, causing both men to turn and face her. Kitt slammed the articulated spyglass closed, not amused by her intrusion, a sure sign he was hiding something.
‘Maybe no one,’ Kitt said, shooting Passemore a look that clearly indicated he was not to tell her anything.
Bryn pretended not to notice. She came at the question from another angle. ‘Why would anyone be following us at all?’
Kitt smiled. ‘Exactly. It seems unlikely, we’re just being cautious.’ He put an arm about her shoulders to steer her away from the rail. ‘Have you had breakfast? Let’s get you some food.’
Something was definitely wrong. She’d give him five minutes to confess before she demanded an answer.
Breaking the Rake's Rules Page 15
