“Hell, I’d have to emigrate myself if that happened. Yellow I could abide, maybe blue. Never pink.”
Madeline shrugged.
Brazos, with a penitent expression on his face, took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m not sayin’ women are dumb, Maddie. I want you to understand that. They just don’t think like men.”
“Thank heaven for that.”
This time Brazos did the ignoring. “Women simply don’t think logically,” he said. “They lack common sense.” Madeline snatched her hand away from his as he continued, “I think it must have something to do with the size of their brains. A man’s is bigger, so he’s just naturally smarter and ladies get shorted a bit on horse sense. Instead, they think with their emotions, and I, for one, can’t think of a better way to end up in trouble.”
Madeline sputtered indignantly. The foolish man actually believed this nonsense! Why was she even listening to him. Be honest, a voice inside her whispered. Isn’t that what most men think of women? Isn’t that why you are so intrigued by the Fourierist philosophy? The thought of living in a society that judged women as equal to men was seductive. Listening to Brazos Sinclair made the idea irresistible. “Mr. Sinclair,” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm, “your logic leaves me speechless. It must be that emotional part of me, wouldn’t you say?”
“I imagine so.”
She lifted her gaze to the heavens, and frustration added a sharp edge to her voice as she said, “Let me get this straight. You are claiming that La Réunion will fail because, in part, women will be treated equally to men in both work and responsibility.”
“That’s right.”
“You believe that a woman is incapable of being a man’s equal.”
Brazos nodded. “Honey, the day a woman becomes my equal, I’ll tie on an apron and bake a cake.”
Neither a fencing foil nor poison was at hand. Brazos’s Colt revolver was, however. He never noticed her hand reach out and spirit it away.
Madeline’s emotional intellect convinced her not to kill him where he stood. She tucked the gun into the deep pocket of her skirt and said, “Brazos, about that cake? Make it chocolate.”
She pivoted and marched away, muttering about Texans, men in general, and the silly women who found them attractive.
As Brazos watched her leave, a roguish smile played across his face. Damn, but the woman was glorious when she was riled. Her purr turned to a growl; those gorgeous brown eyes snapped like a well-worn whip; and with all the huffing and puffing she did, that bountiful bosom of hers liked to spill right out of her dress. ‘Twas enough to make a man’s mouth water.
Madeline Christophe Sinclair might be round-heeled and fickle, but there was no denying her beauty. He had observed her as Mrs. Brunet approached with the baby. The smile that had lit Madeline’s face had damn near blinded him. He’d watched her snuggle little Rose, and he’d been surprised as a puppy with his first prickly pear at the intensity of emotion in the woman’s gaze. For all her faults, the woman truly loved her child.
In Brazos’s eyes, that went a long way toward making up for some of her failings. He’d always had a thing for kids. But since Perote, well, a child’s innocence alone had been able to penetrate that darkness inside him. Being with children, playing with them and basking in their love, had come closer to healing him than anything else. The trip to Europe had been a waste of time. That know-everything doctor hadn’t helped at all. Brazos would have been better off staying home and playing with his children.
He’d enjoyed spending time with Madeline’s Rose and the Brunet boy. Little babies were special in their own way, although he had to admit he fancied them more once they were up and running around. He’d the notion Rose would walk early; already she played at crawling. She was a feisty little thing—determined. Just like her mama.
Brazos’s gaze searched the deck for Madeline. She stood at the center of the bow, and she’d removed her bonnet. Glistening golden tresses blew free in the wind, and Brazos thought she competed well with the Uriel’s figurehead. “Get Maddie to bare her breasts, and she’d put the wooden beauty to shame,” he observed, visualizing the picture, sighing ruefully when a surge of desire swept through him. He wouldn’t mind one bit having a taste of what this Denis and Emile and who knows how many others had enjoyed. Brazos had a bad case of yearning for Madeline Christophe Sinclair.
He didn’t doubt he could seduce her. Hell, she had men on two continents. She’d probably be proud to have one in between. But it couldn’t happen. The little detail of a pending annulment on grounds of nonconsummation of marriage stood in the way.
No, Brazos wasn’t about to risk ending up married to the scheming, wanton beauty. While his acquaintance with the La Réunion colonists had convinced him to be more open-minded and accepting of this libertarian way of living, that didn’t mean he was ready to embrace the life-style himself. These ideas of free love went against his raising, and no matter how appealing the idea might be at times, any loving with Madeline Sinclair would damn sure give him a peck of trouble. For one thing, it’d make her his wife. Brazos didn’t have it in him to bed her, then swear on a legal document it never happened.
His gaze locked on her again, and he cursed his own honor. She smiled serenely as she lifted her head to catch the sea spray on her face. “Holy hell,” he muttered, tossing the Fourierist magazine over the side of the ship. Briefly, he considered following it, as he needed a nice cold swim at the moment. Diving into the North Atlantic during February couldn’t be any more dangerous than taking a dip in Madeline’s bed.
From here on out, he’d stay clear the hell away from the woman. He’d learned his lessons the hard way in the past, but this time would be different. Brazos was determined to stay out of harm’s way.
THEY SAILED into the storm that evening. Heavy seas tossed the Uriel about like flotsam, and a bitter, icy wind buffeted all aboard. Sleet pinged against the single porthole in Madeline’s cabin, and she stuffed a towel against it, hoping to contain the chill seeping through the glass.
An hour earlier, the captain had ordered all fires extinguished. Madeline’s cabin was pitch-black and gloomy—and lonely. Beneath her flannel nightgown she pulled on extra petticoats and stockings for warmth. Then she crawled into her bed, wrapped a blanket around herself, and waited.
She wanted Rose, she worried about her. She’d had her talk with Lillibet earlier and received assurance that the Brunets would act as guardians if need be. Madeline’s relief had been short-lived, however. In the course of the conversation, Lillibet disclosed that she and André were expecting another child. Madeline realized she must see about making permanent arrangements as soon as possible. Caring for two babies of such a young age would be difficult. Three would be overwhelming.
Right now, she wished she had even one to cuddle. “Quit being selfish,” she scolded herself. “Rose is better off with Lillibet. If she’s scared, Lil can nurse her. Nothing is as comforting as being put to the breast.”
Again, an annoyingly recurrent picture of Brazos Sinclair flashed through her mind.
A prolonged yawn of timber scattered her thoughts. She hugged herself tight as the ship creaked violently, and the ghostly howl of the wind warned of souls resting below in a watery grave. She prayed that none of the Uriel’s company would join them on this hellish night. Intent upon her petitions, she didn’t notice her cabin door open.
“Maddie?” Brazos’s voice was a strained whisper.
“Brazos, is that you?”
“Yeah.”
A sudden wave of relief washed over her. She was no longer alone. “I’d wondered if you had remained on deck. I’m sure conditions must be awful out there. It’s bad enough down here in the cabin. This is my first experience with a storm at sea, and I admit I’m a bit frightened.” She was babbling, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “Would you care to join me? I’d appreciate the company, and you are welcome as long as you mind your manners.”
“Is Rose her
e with you?”
She stared into the darkness, trying to make out his form. He sounded strange. “No, she sleeps with the Brunets because she sometimes wakes to nurse in the middle of the night. I wish she were here, I wish I could…oh, never mind. Brazos, listen to me. Just because I invited you inside doesn’t mean I’m inviting you in any other way. I meant what I said about a marriage in name alone. Brazos? What are you doing? I can’t see you.”
“Does this cabin have a window?”
“It has a porthole, yes.”
“Open it.”
“What? Why? It’s freezing outside; it’s sleeting, Brazos.”
“Dammit, I know that. The captain ordered me below. Maddie, just do it.” He paused for a moment then added, “Please!”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
“Please!” he repeated.
Shaking her head, shivering already, Madeline reached up and pulled the towel from the porthole, then twisted the cold brass screw and pulled the glass open. A spray of frigid sea water slapped her face. “Bloody hell,” she muttered beneath her breath.
Brazos stepped inside. “Is there a chair or something in here that’s not fastened to the floor?”
“No,” she answered, wiping her cheeks with an edge of her blanket. “Why? Brazos, what is going on here? This is ridiculous; I’m freezing! It was bad enough before, but with the porthole open…”
“Give me the blanket.”
“What? Why?” She heard him step toward her. He yanked the cover right off of her. “Brazos!” she cried. Somehow, he used the blanket to prop open the door. A steady stream of wind and ice whipped into and out of the cabin. “What are you doing?” she squealed. “This is stupid, Brazos! I’ve had enough. Unless you can give me an excellent reason for your requests, I’m shutting this porthole. We’ll catch our deaths—if we don’t drown first, that is!”
His voice tight, he demanded, “Stay away from the window, Maddie. Just climb under your covers.”
“You took my cover.”
“You have more. Look, I’m sorry, but I need a bit of accommodation right now.”
The rustle of cloth made her hope he was donning extra clothing, as she had. Then she heard something that sounded suspiciously like a belt buckle hit the wooden floor.
“Brazos?” Beside her, the mattress sagged beneath his weight. The unmistakable contour of a taut, masculine muscle—a taut, masculine, naked muscle—curled against her. She gasped. “Brazos Sinclair! How dare you! I distinctly told you that…” Her sentence trailed off when she realized he’d laid the handle of a knife across her palm. “What in heaven’s name is going on?”
Chapter 4
“KEEP THE KNIFE, MADDIE. You might need it,” Brazos said. “Sorry about the clothes, but I’m so damned hot.” His voice trailed off, “I’m so damned.”
Oh, God, don’t let me hurt her. Brazos was fighting for all he was worth. Panic poised at the edge of his consciousness, ready to consume him. He trembled, waves of hot terror washing over his body, soaking the sheet beneath him with his sweat. His heart raced, and he gasped for every breath against the terrible weight on his chest, the heavy, suffocating weight.
God, he was scared. He shouldn’t have come here. He should have stayed away from her like he’d intended.
But something drew him to her, something strong, powerful. He sensed a light within Madeline, a brightness that called to the darkness of his soul. “Talk to me, Maddie. Please. Share it with me.”
“You’re frightening me. What is it Brazos? What’s wrong? Why are you doing this?”
It would get worse, he knew it. Like a woman giving birth, only these were emotional contractions. Now that they’d started, he couldn’t stop them. At least, he never had before. Maybe this time though. Maddie was with him. Maddie with that warm, soothing inner light. “Talk, just talk. I need your voice.”
“I need some answers. What is the knife for; Brazos? Did something happen on deck? Has there been a mutiny? Are you here to protect me?”
Brazos groaned, “Maddie, just shut up and talk, would you?”
“Shut up and talk. Well, that makes as much sense as everything else. Fine, you want me to talk? Well, I’m cold. I’m very, very cold. I don’t understand how you can lie there like…uh, well, you know, like you are. I guess you have a reason for opening the porthole in the middle of a sleet storm, and for choosing this particular way to slither into my bed. I imagine you even have a reason for handing me a weapon, although I can’t say I say I find it reassuring. Is it some sort of Texan custom?”
When he didn’t answer she said in a sugary tone, “But since I’m only an inferior woman, I’ll not question your intelligence or any lack thereof. Besides, it appears as if I could question you till dawn and not receive a single answer.”
Lost within the hell of his mind, Brazos held on to her voice like a lifeline. He even smiled faintly at her wit. He wrapped his arm around her, and when he spoke, his voice came from far away. “Here, sweet, somebody ought to get some use from all this heat.”
“Ow! What’s that metal thing around your arm? It’s poking me, Brazos, move it.” Her hand splayed across his bare chest. “Why, you’re burning up! But you’re sweating. What is this…oh, Brazos, is it…is it…consumption?”
“I’m not that lucky—or contagious,” he forced the words past the lump in his throat. “Keep talking, Maddie.”
She looked at him, gazed deeply into his eyes. In his overwhelming need, Brazos buried his pride and allowed her a glimpse of his torment.
“Oh, my,” she said softly.
He saw the sheen of tears she did not try to hide as she lay down beside him. And Madeline began to speak.
Curled against him, she recounted happenings during her childhood. She told tales of Mistress Poggi’s boarding school, of growing up an orphan among girls who returned to their homes for holidays. Her stories were silly ones, nothing that betrayed her secrets, except, perhaps, the loneliness he sensed was so much a part of her.
Brazos gripped her hand, concentrating on her voice, and on the fresh air streaming through the porthole. It’s open, he told himself. The window, the door, He could get out. He wasn’t alone. He could get out.
But deep inside him, the beast stirred.
Madeline continued to talk, and Brazos battled to hear her words. Her voice was a rope of life, a rhythm of light. He grasped it, basked in it. And with Madeline’s help, he held the terror at bay.
Eventually, amazingly, he slept.
For a time, Madeline lay awake, thinking about the man now sleeping peacefully at her side. The poor man. Tonight’s events had proven that Brazos Sinclair was more than the handsome, arrogant fool she’d considered him to be. She wasn’t the only person aboard this boat hiding things. And whatever his secrets were, she wondered if they might not be as horrible as her own.
With such ideas floating through her mind, Madeline drifted toward sleep. But before she slumbered, she opened her heart just a bit, and the injured boy living within the man beside her slipped inside.
BRAZOS DREAMED he was a child again, wrapped in the blessed comfort of his mother’s arms. Her gentle fingers stroked his hair, and her perfume took him back to the gardens at Magnolia Bend. Mama always favored the scent of roses.
She cushioned him with her breasts. Brazos burrowed into the softness. Something was different, the pillow was fluffier than he remembered. A rush of heat stirred him, inspiring horror that he’d react this way to his own mother. His eyes flew open wide, and all dreams of childhood disappeared as he encountered the luscious sight of a bountiful bosom within tongue’s reach. This was not his mother.
He must’ve died last night, after all.
Slowly, Brazos lifted his head. His stare crawled up the length of patterned blue flannel, pausing at the sight of creamy bare skin left visible by a loosened ribbon, then climbing higher to an elegant stretch of neck and to lips, full and red and slightly parted. Almost against his will, he lift
ed his gaze to her eyes. Deep and as dark as the velvet sea, they silently offered both plea and promise, and Brazos responded to their siren call.
He lowered his head, and his mouth touched hers.
He drowned in the pleasure of her kiss. Sensations swirled around him, creating an aching need that craved satisfaction. He groaned a low, masculine declaration of desire, and her answering whimper destroyed the few lingering remnants of resistance he’d possessed.
He rolled to his back, pulling her with him so that she lay pressed against his chest. His hands raced down the warm, soft texture of the flannel nightgown, then delved beneath to wander over skin even softer, silky and hot.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking, seeking, and he felt the shudder of desire sweep through the body pressed so close to his. “Oh, Brazos,” she whispered when he tore his mouth from hers, his lips trailing downward to taste the bounty that had pillowed his head such a short time ago. Her breathy tone sent frissons of heat along his nerves. He tugged at her gown with his teeth, baring a rosy, pebbled peak to his gaze. “Yeah, Beauty,” he answered reverently.
It was as he bent and took her breast into his mouth that he remembered. Beauty. Maddie. Madeline Christophe. Madeline Sinclair. His wife! He couldn’t make love to his wife. Not this wife, not Madeline Sinclair. Not ever.
He pulled away just as Madeline sighed a throaty moan. He felt like groaning right along with her. Brazos was used to wanting things he couldn’t have, but this was the first time he remembered having something he couldn’t—or shouldn’t, anyway—want.
Then she opened her eyes, and what he saw there had him scrambling off the bed and diving for his pants. Those big, brown, beautiful eyes had gone all misty with desire. “Brazos?” she asked, her voice husky and soft.
He had a helluva time fitting himself inside his denims. Keeping his back to her until he’d managed to get buttoned, he took a deep breath, then turned. She was sitting up in the bunk, and she had that wounded-doe look about her again. The sight of it was like a punch to the gut. “Don’t do that,” he demanded roughly.
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