The high-pitched squeal of a school of dolphins carried over the slapping of the waves, and Alyson turned moonstruck eyes to him expectantly, waiting for explanations. He pointed out the leaping, cavorting dark shapes in the wide swath of moonlight.
“They’re marvelous! Almost as if they could be your pets.” In the same breath, without diverting her attention in any way, she added, “I miss Peabody.”
Rory struggled to follow the thought until he remembered her earlier mention of the spaniel she’d had to leave behind. Since she still clung to his arm, he could not hug her as he would like, but he intended to rectify that situation.
Guiding her back into the lee of the bulwark, where her hair did not swirl in wild gusts about them and where the man at the helm could not see, Rory turned Alyson to face him. At his touch, her eyes became mirrored, and he could see only his reflection. He caressed the smoothness of her cheek, testing her reality, and a hauntingly sensual smile tilted on her lips.
“By all that’s holy, Alys, do you have any idea what a smile like that does to a man?” The words emerged involuntarily, torn from his tongue by some supernatural force. “Don’t answer that,” he added when the smile widened. Whatever her answer might have been, he felt certain it would destroy his logic, and he needed all the logic he could muster.
“You were to tell me of London,” she prompted.
In the moonlight, Rory’s teeth gleamed white against his sun-darkened features. Alyson swayed closer to him with the roll of the ship. Legs spread, he stood firm, leaning a hand against the bulwark to shelter her. This was not the elegant gentleman who had escorted her into his aunt’s ballroom, nor the hardworking seaman who had carried her to these strange shores. The Maclean was a man of many facets, but she liked the way this one was looking at her.
The lines that often wrinkled about his eyes when he laughed were not noticeable tonight, but neither was the frown that puckered the bridge of his nose when he was angry. The rich brandy of his eyes seemed warm and inviting, and the hint of a smile added sensuality to his lips. She did not need any second sight to know what he was thinking, and she shivered. She had never experienced this kind of awareness with Alan.
“London, yes.” Rory grazed her cheek with the back of his finger. “London is a long way off. That is my problem.”
Alyson shivered as he stroked her hair, then her throat. She held her own hands clasped behind her as she leaned back against the cabin. She wanted him to touch her more. She could feel the anticipation rising in her breasts. They tightened beneath the satin binding of her bodice.
She was aware of the hard muscular strength of his arm. She had even grown accustomed to the deep V of his sun-bronzed chest revealed by the unfastened shirt. She tried not to dwell on it too long, however, because the sight evoked her earlier vision much too clearly.
She knew now her vision had not been a dream and that sooner or later Rory would teach her what it was like to be a woman. The knowledge had once been frightening, but she felt safer in Rory’s company than with anyone else she knew. Rory wouldn’t willingly hurt her.
“There is some problem?” she asked. “You do intend to return to London, don’t you? I would not mind sailing with you awhile longer, but I miss England, and I’m worried Mr. Farnley will still think me dead. I’d like to go home.”
“So would I, lass, so would I.” Rory said this with a heartfelt fervor. Tenderly, he bent and applied his lips to hers.
Alyson’s surprised gasp left her vulnerable. Rory’s tongue slid suggestively along hers, and her hands flew to his chest. His naked flesh burned her palm as his kiss enticed her into wickedness. Her fingers curled in a soft mat of hair. She shivered at the unexpected invasion of his tongue, but she didn’t resist. Their breaths mingled, and Alyson surrendered to his gentle attack, her defenses breeched, her willpower fled.
She slid her hands around Rory’s neck when he caught her waist and drew her against him. She could feel the full length of his muscular torso pressed into hers, and she strained to know more. The heat of his mouth held her captive, and she drank eagerly of his passion, clinging to his need and desire.
Rory was the first to break this forbidden paradise. Reluctantly releasing her, he brushed a lingering kiss against her cheek and set her back to meet her bewildered eyes. “That’s my problem, lass,” he admitted with a trace of sadness. “A man can resist only so much, and then temptation triumphs. Do ye ken, lass?”
Alyson stared at her taciturn Scotsman. He seldom slipped into his lilting accent unless he was upset, but he did not seem angry. She longed only to have his arms around her again, but she realized he was asking her a question she did not fully understand. “We should not kiss like that again?”
Rory offered up a wry smile. “That is one way of looking at it, dear heart, but you would have to tie me to the mains’l before you could keep me from doing it again. And again. What I’m telling you, lass, is that I canna take you back to London unless you’re willing to share my bed. I canna speak it any plainer. I’ve not survived this long without learning my weaknesses, and you’re one of them, lass.”
Alyson scanned his face at this admission. She had thought Rory strong, much stronger than herself, and perhaps he was. He, at least, was trying to resist this mysterious attraction between them, while she would gladly surrender to whatever he asked. She tried to listen to his next words, but her heart was pounding so fiercely at the burning desire in his eyes that she could scarcely hear him.
She was his weakness, he had said. Those words she had heard, and they were burned indelibly in her heart. He wanted her, despite all her flaws.
“I have some unfinished business in the islands, lass. We can find another ship for you there, or if you prefer, we can sail back to Charleston now and set straight the Neptune’s captain. The choice is yours, Alys. I’ll abide by whatever you decide.”
Alarmed, Alyson understood at least part of this choice. She could not go back to the Neptune and Cranville. She refused even to consider it.
The offer of another ship did not ease her fears. She had learned more of the world since she had so blithely set out so many months ago. She knew ships were full of men, and very few men could be trusted. The prospect of sailing with a ship of strangers was not only daunting, but seemed foolhardy when the one man she trusted stood before her.
Rory’s hand had taken to wandering up and down her side, testing the boning of her bodice and the fullness of her petticoats, and encroaching closer upon the curve of her breast. If he thought to reassure her, he was failing, Alyson thought as she tried to gather her wits. It would be so much easier to surrender mindlessly to his caresses, but she had done that with Alan. This time, she struggled for comprehension.
The only thing that was clear was that if her vision were to come true, Rory would have her, whatever her choice might be. She knew very little about what went on between men and women, but it had something to do with making babies. The circumstances of her own birth told her that a child could result with or without marriage.
That made her choice considerably clearer. She could return to the Neptune and Cranville—who offered marriage without any respect for her. She could take another ship and return to London—and hide from Cranville for the rest of her life. Or she could stay in Rory’s protection. And whichever route she chose, eventually she would find herself in Rory’s bed. Her vision had revealed that much. That left no choice at all.
The vagueness of her smile left Rory uneasy, but he still wasn’t prepared for her reply.
“Do they have clergymen on these islands?”
Had he not known her better, he would have thought her mind had drifted off on another of its strange tangents, but Rory caught the drift quickly enough. He stared at her in incredulity, however, not believing even Alyson could be foolish enough to suggest such a thing. What was it about women that always brought to mind marriage, when it never entered a man’s head?
“Alyson, dear heart, you can
not know what you are saying. Marriage is for a lifetime, not for a few weeks across the sea. Think, lass, what would you do with a husband like me?”
“You would prefer I marry Cranville?” she asked with more tartness than was customary.
She had him there. He most certainly didn’t want her to marry that villain, but for the sake of honesty, she would be better off with the handsome earl than with himself. Rory shook his head in confusion. He had thought he had lined the problem up very neatly. Leave it to Alyson to discover the improbable solution.
Rory caught his hand in her wild mane of hair and held her head tilted where he could read the storm clouds of her eyes. Sweet-natured she might be, but all the passions of a royal hellion welled up in those eyes at times.
He wanted the sweetness of her passion, not the tartness, but he would take both if he could have her.
“Nay, I would not prefer Cranville, but I think you might after a few weeks of my life. I have no home, lass. This ship is all I have and all I am. Until recently I could not even walk the shores of England without risking my head. Even now I am in danger of being blown out of the water every time I cross the path of the Royal Navy. It’s no life for an earl’s granddaughter. I will love you and teach you the ways of love, but I would do you a great disservice if I married you.”
Alyson’s eyes grew troubled. Her hand wandered to his chest. She ignored his hasty intake of breath as her fingers traveled the ridges of his chest. He tightened his arms possessively, and she swayed into his embrace.
“Stay with me awhile, Alys,” he pleaded against her ear, holding her as if she might break in two. “I want you more than anything or anyone else in my life. Just don’t let me ruin yours.” His anguish was all the warning he could give.
“Alan and Cranville only offered marriage when they learned I am an heiress. You might not love me, but you want me, not my money. That has to count for something,” she murmured.
“That is a most illogical way of looking at things, dear heart.” He could feel her heart beating with his and couldn’t set her aside.
She lifted her face to meet his gaze. “I have homes, Rory. You do not need to provide me one. And I’m certain the Royal Navy is in the wrong about you, and it will be discovered soon. I do not care what you have been in the past. I know what you are now, and I want to stay with you.”
Those were the kindest words he had heard in many a year, and Rory smiled affectionately at her assumption that the entire navy was in the wrong. But he could not let her daft logic soften his heart, if only for her own good. He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger and met her gaze.
“The Royal Navy is not wrong, lass. I am a smuggler. I have made my fortune breaking the law and do not intend to change my ways. The only reason they have kept a wary distance is that I hold letters of marque from the governor of Barbados, and they cannot be certain whether I’m smuggling British goods or stealing French. That is the kind of man you would give your life and wealth to, lass.”
Alyson jerked her head away from his grasp and stared out at the fathomless sea. How could she tell him that words had no meaning to her, that she had seen things he would never believe? Perhaps in his own logical way he was right, and she was better off being mistress of a pirate than wed to one, but she had never acted on logic and could not start now. Perhaps her one attempt at being careful was wrong too. She turned back to his taut face with puzzlement.
“I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, Rory. In society’s eyes, I am well-suited to be a smuggler’s wife, but I do not want the same shadow to plague my children. Isn’t it better that they have a smuggler for a father instead of no father at all?” She handed this question of logic to a man who had more experience in thinking that way.
And he laughed. A wide grin sprawled across Rory’s square jaw as he lifted her into his arms and cuddled her closer. When she tried to shake free, he caressed her hair and murmured, “Nay, lass, I’ll not let you go now. If that is all that troubles ye, I’ll take care that no bairns come of our loving. We’ll be free as the wind and there will be none to say us wrong.”
Pressing her heated cheeks against his broad shoulder, Alyson tried to contain the anticipation rising inside her.
She loved the way his soft burr murmured against her ear. She loved the way he was holding her with tender strength against his chest. And she loved the way his kisses felt as they burned butterfly touches across her face. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew this was wrong, but it was not her mind that he was holding.
Alyson eagerly turned her lips up to meet his kiss in unspoken agreement.
14
Rory whistled contentedly as he left Alyson preparing for bed. He checked their course and consulted with Dougall. His whistling gave fair warning that something was brewing. Rory seldom whistled unless he had just pocketed a hefty amount of change from a shrewd deal.
Putting down his sextant, Dougall studied his friend and employer with suspicion, but he offered no comment until Rory made his request. Dougall raised his eyebrows with incredulity.
“No wonder the lass ran away from ye. And here I was thinking ye an honorable man, Maclean. If ye’ve left her thinking it’s all legal and aboveboard, I’ll tell her different and help her run away again.”
Rory scowled at his first mate. “And if that’s the kind of loyalty and obedience I can expect from you, I’ll let you go, but the girl stays. She has run away once too many times. I mean to put an end to it.”
Dougall made a rude noise. Older than Rory by only a few years, and by his side for many more years than that, he behaved as the brother Rory no longer had. While Jack frowned at his captain’s orders and continued to keep his hold on the tiller, Dougall crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his friend.
“I’ll not let you do it, Maclean. She’s a good girl and deserves better. You’ve already ruined her reputation, and probably worse. Either marry her proper or put her on the next ship back to London.”
Unaware of Alyson’s wealth, Dougall had no understanding of Rory’s predicament, and Rory had no intention of appearing noble by enlightening him. Still scowling, he charted their course to the nearest deserted island off the coast of Georgia.
“She already knows what I intend and has agreed to it. I only mean to give her a little ceremony to mark the occasion. I’ll thank ye to keep yer long nose out of what ye canna ken.”
When Rory lapsed into his thick Highland brogue, Dougall knew it was time to shut up. Closing his big mouth in a thin line, he clambered down from the quarterdeck and stalked toward the men’s quarters to relay their orders.
As the raucous cheer rose up from below, Rory eyed the silent man at the tiller. Jack was neither a kinsman nor even a Scot, but he had been with him since he first bought the Witch, and he valued the older man’s opinion on things nautical.
“I’m protecting her the only way I can,” Rory growled at Jack’s frown.
“Your damned bloody revenge means that much to you?” From Jack, the curse words meant little, but his tone expressed disapproval and not curiosity.
“It’s not revenge, although I mean to have that too. I can’t allow a feeble female to stand in the way of what I’ve worked for a lifetime to accomplish.”
“Seems to me she ain’t half so feeble as you make her out to be. She got away from you before, and she’ll do it again.”
That certainly hit the crux of the matter, but Rory had no wish to pursue that line of thinking. Acquiring a woman in his life had never been one of his goals. Alyson was free to do as she pleased. He only wished she was as easy to forget as the women he had left behind.
***
Unaware of the dissension she had created, Alyson rummaged for one of Rory’s last remaining shirts to use as night rail. It seemed very calculating and coldhearted to be left to ungarb herself on the eve of becoming a man’s mistress, but Rory’s was a practical nature. He had better things to do than untie and unhook dozens of l
ittle fastenings, and it would probably be most embarrassing with both of them fumbling about in her petticoats.
She had thought it would be more romantic, that “it” would happen without her having to think about it, sort of like kissing. But this wasn’t a romance.
Her fingers trembled as she unlaced the bodice and pulled it off. The warm night air caressed her bare shoulders, but it raised goose bumps just the same. Untying and unfastening her full skirts and petticoats, she stepped out of them slowly, reluctant to expose herself to the seductive elements of a southern night and the knowledge of what she meant to do.
When she had rid herself of all but the frail finery of chemise and stockings, Alyson glanced down at herself. She could not imagine Rory buying these intimate things for her. Had he gone into the dressmaker’s and chosen them particularly, or just stood at the counter and told the modiste to wrap up whatever was available? He had to have given the woman some idea of her size. Amusement played at her lips as she tried to imagine that scene.
She ought to be fearfully embarrassed, but mostly she was curious. She had no mirror to see herself in, but she knew she was not tall or slender or graceful like the women she had admired in London. On the other hand, she needed no padding as so many women did to fill out their fashionable gowns. She had no idea what men preferred, but she would have to assume Rory liked her the way she was. That brought a flush to her cheeks.
She was going to do what her mother had done, but without even the pretense of a marriage to make it right. True, Rory had murmured words of love, but so had Alan. Men meant nothing by those words; they couldn’t. Perhaps even her father had lied to her mother on that night she had conceived. Else he would have waited until they were well and truly married.
A brief moment of sadness darkened the moment, but Alyson shook off the elusive premonition. She could take care of herself much better than her mother had. She was wealthy enough to do whatever she liked, and Rory was quite right in denying marriage. If there were ways of loving without producing a child, then she wanted to learn them.
Moon Dreams Page 14
