It was like an electric shock, and she nearly cried out from the intensity of her pleasure. He stifled her protest with a kiss and drove her relentlessly on. All at once she was gasping, fighting for breath, her entire body erupting with the force of her exploding sensations. Again she tried to cry out, and again he covered her mouth with his; with two final knifing thrusts, he drove her to an ecstasy of release and she experienced the inexpressible pleasure of final consummation. She fell away with a sigh.
He took her once more that night, against her protests, but to her ultimate delight and left her sore, bruised, and wondering if she would ever rise from the bed again. She felt like a hollow shell, with all the inner flesh burned away and just the dried husk remaining. She smiled, turned over, and fell into a deep sleep.
Kate knew it was late when she awoke because the sun was already high in the sky. She lay still, trying to remember as much of last night as she could. Once again she found it hard to accept her own response to Brett. In the privacy of her own mind she could confess she had enjoyed it, even reveled in it, but she would die rather than admit that to Brett. She had been half asleep at the Cock-in-the-Cradle and had never been sure of what she remembered, but she had been wide-awake last night and she could recall every passion-filled minute in detail. She could only wonder at herself, for she had never suspected the presence of such feelings within herself.
Kate raised her arms over her head to indulge in an expansive stretch. She had expected to enjoy it as she always did on cool mornings when she had slept well, but today it made her acutely aware of sore muscles and bruised flesh, and she frowned.
She got out of bed, bolted the door, and walked over to the long mirror on the back of the wardrobe door. She examined her face, but she could see no changes, no lines, no sign even of the bruised lips. She slipped her gown over her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. Carefully she studied herself in the morning light, turning first to one side and then to the other, minutely searching for something to show what she had experienced in Brett’s arms.
The time of their first lovemaking, she had felt besmirched and dishonored, but now she felt transformed, like a butterfly which had emerged from her cocoon into the brilliant sunshine, and it was a little disappointing to find she didn’t look any different. Rocking her body from side to side, she hugged herself in a spasm of delight. Now she was a woman and knew what it was to take a woman’s pleasures. She had passed one of life’s milestones and there was no going back.
Then she remembered that even though Brett was her husband, he had been forced on her as much by circumstances as by his own lusts, and she intended to leave him as soon as she could. She grew angry. That’s not how it should have been, and it came close to destroying all her pleasure.
She shoved her thoughts aside and began to dress. She had enjoyed being on deck so much yesterday that she wanted to go up again. Then she remembered the cabins of the crew members that lined the passageway and she stopped in her tracks. Everyone must have known it was her wedding night, and she couldn’t bear to be stared at with knowing smiles by every man she passed. It was too terrible to even contemplate. It might be better if she waited for Brett. Their curiosity couldn’t last forever.
She went about her dressing without realizing she was spending a longer time than usual over her choices. She was displeased with everything in her closet; her clothes were drab and ugly. She didn’t own a single dress that didn’t make her look like a poor relation. As soon as they stopped at one of the coastal towns in France or Spain, or someplace civilized, she had to get some new clothes. If she was going to be forced to masquerade as Brett’s wife, she refused to go about looking like a peasant girl. She threw the gown in her hands to the floor, but on further consideration picked it up again because she decided it was the least likely of all her garments to make her an object of ridicule. She finished dressing and studied herself critically in the mirror. The reflection wasn’t what she would have liked, but she couldn’t do any better now, so with a resigned shrug she sat down to wait for Brett.
It didn’t take her long to become extremely impatient. She was bored and there was nothing to do. In her haste to leave Ryehill, she had never considered the need for something to occupy her time. Kate had never liked needlework, but she would gladly have hemmed a dozen handkerchiefs just to fill the time.
The empty minutes continued to pile up. She searched the room for something to occupy her mind, but it had been swept clean before she and Brett boarded the ship.
She sat down again and tried to think of what to do about her future, a future that didn’t include Brett, but the idea depressed her and she couldn’t concentrate. She tried to decide what she would do or say the next time she was alone with him, but the memory of last night unsettled her so much she couldn’t think at all. It probably wouldn’t make any difference anyway. Brett had a way of expecting things to go the way he wanted them to, and from her limited experience, they usually did, despite any obstacle in his path. She sighed deeply once more and prepared to wait.
After one of the longest and most tedious hours she had ever endured, she heard a knock at the door and ran to throw it open. Only last-minute caution kept her from rushing out into the passageway to welcome Brett with open arms. “Who is it?” she called out, leaning her ear against the door.
“It’s Charles, Mrs. Westbrook.” Kate sighed with relief and unlocked the door. “Mr. Westbrook sent me to ask if you would like to eat lunch on deck. The weather’s holding, and the sun is quite warm.”
Kate would have eaten her lunch in the crow’s nest just to get out of the room. She was sure she could endure the curious stares with Brett’s support, but after a morning of being cooped up in the cabin, it was worth being stared at by any number of people just to be able to escape further confinement.
You’re acting like a silly fool, she scolded herself. You’re a married woman traveling with her husband, and you’ve done absolutely nothing that all married women don’t do. As a matter of fact, everybody expects you to sleep with Brett. They’d really stare if you didn’t, so stop jumping at shadows and get up on deck and try to act like a sensible, normal married lady. But even though she recognized the practical nature of that stern advice, she still had a nagging feeling she would have preferred to stay hidden forever.
Chapter 17
A small table already stood next to her deck chair. Brett had finished his lunch, but he gave orders that Kate should be served at once. He seemed completely at ease with her—it was as though last night never happened—but she was too self-conscious, too acutely aware of their recent intimacy, to meet his eyes; she busied herself getting settled into her chair and then lay back with her hands over her eyes pretending the sun was too strong for her to open them.
Brett filled the time with small talk, asking about her comfort and if there was anything he could do to make her trip more enjoyable. Kate remembered her hellish hours of boredom and forgot to be embarrassed.
“Yes, there is something you can do,” she said, sitting up and facing Brett squarely. “I need something to do with my time. I spent an hour ransacking every crevice in that cabin trying to find a book or a game, anything to do. It nearly drove me crazy. There’s not even a needle to mend a piece of torn lace.”
“Do you want to mend torn lace?” Brett asked, nonplussed.
“Of course not, but I can’t sit around for hours with nothing to do except doze in the sun. Besides, there’s nobody to do it for me.”
“I never thought about that,” Brett conceded. He was never bored at sea.
“Neither did I,” she admitted. “I didn’t bring anything from home, and no one packed the books I borrowed from Valentine. I’ll go crazy if I don’t find something to do. I might even be reduced to scrubbing the floors to keep my sanity.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Brett snapped, quite unamused. “I’ll speak to the captain. He’s bound to have one or two books you can borrow, but I wouldn�
��t expect too much. Everyone’s busy when they’re at sea, and they don’t have much time for amusements. I’m sure we’ll be stopping several times before we reach Gibraltar. We can look for something then.”
Her eyes lighted up. “Can we go shopping?” she asked eagerly. “I need clothes, dresses, hats, just about everything you can think of.”
“I’m afraid you won’t find much you’ll want to buy. The ports are small and not likely to have much that will interest you, but when we come back, I promise to mount a raid on the Paris dress shops they’ll be talking about for years to come.” In an effort to ease her disappointment, he added, “And we won’t patronize any but the most expensive shops.”
But Kate wasn’t going to be talked down to. “I never imagined you wouldn’t,” she said with an impish grin. “You couldn’t possibly let your wife be seen in the rags I have with me. Certainly not after the way you dress your mistresses.” She almost laughed at his startled, disapproving frown. “You probably haven’t noticed, but I don’t have a single dress a parlor maid wouldn’t be ashamed to wear. You should have heard some of the things Valentine had to say about them.”
“You’ll have closets full of gowns even Valentine will envy,” Brett said, regaining his good humor. “And I’m going to give you a very special present for having to wait so long.”
Kate’s eyes grew huge and she gazed at him in surprise. “A present? You’re going to give me a present?” Suddenly they filled with tears that ran down her cheeks. She tried to brush them away before Brett could see them, but she was too late.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, puzzled.
“It’s nothing,” she said, turning her head away. But he took her chin in his hand and lifted her face until he could look into her eyes.
“Tell me the truth. Why did you cry?”
“I don’t know why,” she said, half angry at him for pressing for an explanation. “It’s so stupid.” She gave a loud, defiant sniff. “I haven’t had a present in so long, I guess it was just too much of a surprise. I used to get them when I was little, but Mother always kept the nice things for herself. After she died, I didn’t get anything at all. Martin never gave anyone presents.”
Being an only child and raised in a household that centered entirely on himself, Brett had not been brought up to give much thought to the desires or happiness of others, but he had since learned enough about women to realize this was a nearly inhuman way to treat a young girl.
“Everyone should get lots of presents. When we get back to London and announce our marriage, I’m sure we’ll get more than you ever thought possible. They’ll keep coming for weeks until the house is full of them. You’ll probably be so tired of writing notes you’ll never want to see silver wrapping paper again.”
“It can’t possibly be that bad,” she laughed with a watery chuckle.
“Worse! But you can always make Charles do the dirty work. He excels at keeping track of things.”
“You know, you really are a terrible man.”
“Maybe, but not so bad I’d make you wait until we get back to London for your present. As soon as we dock, we’re going to turn the town inside out for something you’d like. Even a fishing village ought to have at least one decent shop.”
Kate was delighted with the prospect of going shopping, but it made her uncomfortable to have him be so generous and thoughtful. He didn’t know she wasn’t going to go on being his wife after they reached England—she found it hard to remember it herself when he acted like this—but she wouldn’t think of that yet. She knew she was being a coward, but the weather was divinely beautiful, she was hungry for her lunch, and Brett was striving to be a charming companion. For the moment at least, she was at peace. It couldn’t last, it seemed nothing good ever did, but she wanted it to stay like this as long as possible.
The weeks that followed went quickly for Kate. The weather stayed clear and unseasonably warm, and she spent much of her time on deck enjoying the sun with Brett. He continued to demonstrate an interest in talking to her, amusing her, and discovering what pleased her. She began to look forward to these talks, and her feelings of anger toward him gradually disappeared. She started to think of him as a cheerful and relaxing force and began to look forward to being with him. She discovered he had a sense of humor and didn’t mind being teased as long as she was careful. He refused to talk about himself or his family, but he seemed to take pleasure in satisfying her curiosity on many different subjects and would take great pains to be sure she understood his explanations.
In spite of her attempts to keep her feelings under control, she felt her love for him growing day by -day until it filled her with a perpetual warmth. She wondered that every man on the ship didn’t take one look at her shining eyes and know she was more in love than ever. It was all she could do to contain it, to not break down and talk to Charles or Mark to relieve the pressure of keeping such a secret to herself. She would have given anything she owned for one hour with Valentine and a chance to say all the number of things bursting to be said.
She continued to keep her own counsel and to respond to Brett as normally as was possible for one in a state as near to heavenly bliss as a mere mortal could achieve, yet every day it became harder to hold to her resolution to leave Brett when they reached London. Her quandary grew deeper and deeper, but she cast it in the corner with all the other things she didn’t want to think about just now. Her return was a long way off. Surely something would happen that might change things before then.
On cool, windy days she had access to the captain’s books and quite a few games and puzzles. At first, she didn’t know what to do with the last two, but Brett took her education in hand and soon she was fairly good at chess, quite capable of playing a decent hand of cards, and had waded through two books on ships and sailing. Brett also continued her training with the pistol, sword, and knife. One day she amused and cheered the sailors by putting a ball through the center of a playing card.
She didn’t feel particularly comfortable with a knife, but she preferred throwing it to stabbing the target directly. No matter what they fixed up for a mark, it always made her think of human flesh, and that gave her a creepy feeling all over.
“Human flesh is what you’re supposed to aim at,” Brett said, impatient with her hesitation. “You’re defending yourself against attack, remember? If you get squeamish over a little blood, you might as well give up altogether.” But Kate continued to work on her toss and gradually improved her skill to the point the sailors began to take bets among themselves as to how close she could come to the target.
But none of them ever considered speaking to her unless it was necessary, or behaving with anything but the greatest respect in her presence. Brett kept a vigilant eye on the crew. One look at those black eyes and they knew he would kill anyone who dared to so much as lay a finger on his wife. They didn’t need any hints from Charles or tales told by the captain to convince them of his ability to defend Kate’s honor. They had watched him, too, as he showed her how to handle her weapons, and no one overlooked the fact that he never missed the center of his target with either pistol or knife. There was no reason to doubt his equal skill with a sword or cutlass.
Practice with swords was confined to their cabin. “It’s too windy on deck, and the salt spray can cause you to lose your footing,” Brett had told her, but the real reason was Kate had to gather her skirts tightly about her so they wouldn’t get in the way of her movements. This provided a much-too-clear outline of her body for the crew’s scrutiny, and Brett wouldn’t allow that. Recently he had taken to having her wear pants. At first he had given her a pair of his own to wear, but they were much too long and too large. “You look like a kangaroo in its mother’s pouch,” he howled with laughter the first time he bullied her into putting them on.
Kate threw the pants at him. “Since you forced me to wear these indecent things,” she scolded, “it’s not fair to laugh at me.” But that only caused him to laugh harder. “
I hope you get a stomachache,” she said spitefully.
The next day he handed her a pair of Mark’s trousers, which fit her much better. She still felt like a shameless hussy whenever she put them on, but at least she didn’t stumble over the rolled-up legs or have great bunches of material lumped at her waist. She took off her shoes and skipped around the cabin brandishing her sword at everything in her path, reveling in a freedom unknown to girls of her class. Her rearing had always been unconventional, but this latitude was now accompanied by the personal attention of a man and an active interest in her as an individual. It was a new and wonderful experience. She didn’t know how to account for it, but she hoped it wouldn’t end.
And why shouldn’t she take advantage of it, she asked herself? Once they returned to England, it would all come to an end. She knew she would never find anything like it again. So she banished all caution and refused to look back, determined to extract every ounce of pleasure she could.
There was no need for them to experience the privation of ocean-going vessels that had to purchase everything they needed months ahead, and the ship put into port regularly to replenish its stores of food and water. No one was at war with England, and all the French, Spanish, and Portuguese ports were open to them. They never stayed for more than a few hours, but that was long enough for Kate to walk almost every street, staring in windows and peering into the recesses of shops for anything she might be able to use. She bought large numbers of French and Spanish books even though she could barely read the latter language. She had become an accomplished seamstress during the years she lived with Martin, and she purchased some exquisite embroidery as well as occasional laces, silks, and muslins.
Seductive Wager Page 22
