This whole nightmare would be far clearer when he knew the reasoning behind Genevieve’s mad act. One thing was unfortunately and undeniably obvious. With a storm rising, there was no way they could turn around and take Genevieve back to Brackenmoore at the moment.
It was ever in his mind that his parents had died in such a storm. Angry as he was with Genevieve he would not risk her safety.
Marcel looked at Constanza where she stood. Her brown eyes fixed rigidly on Genevieve’s back, and he saw the unhappiness in her brown eyes, her unmistakable pallor. It was obvious that Genevieve believed they were lovers. Marcel knew how embarrassing this must be for Constanza, who was a still-grieving widow.
He was ashamed to admit that he had, until the moment she stepped from behind the screen, completely forgotten her presence in his shock at seeing Genevieve. The lovely and infuriating Genevieve, who had occupied his every waking thought since seeing her again at Brackenmoore.
He knew a great sense of sympathy for Constanza at having been placed in this position. Yet he suddenly realized that he could possibly use Genevieve’s misinterpretation of their being here together to his advantage. Her mistaken belief that he and Constanza were lovers had clearly angered her. This brought him a sudden revelation as to what Genevieve was doing here. What woman would not be angry at finding a man with another woman when he had kissed her, touched her the way he had at Brackenmoore?
For that must be why she was here. He would be daft to pretend that their embraces had been anything but compelling. But it was obvious to him that even a physical reaction such as they had shared could not be acted upon. Their lives had gone in opposing directions.
Did Genevieve understand this?
Clearly she did not, but she could not jeopardize her coming marriage for such madness. Nor he his peace of mind.
Aye, he would use her anger to protect her. It created a boundary between them he would not easily cross. And her coming marriage would act as a deterrent to him, for he had a distinct feeling that he would have need of one. But how his gaze lingered on the slender line of her back, her hips, and he recalled how good it had felt to run his hands over them…to have her…
Roughly he pulled his thoughts back to the present. He must get hold of himself.
Marcel regretted that Constanza would be involved in his deceit. He determined to explain all of this to her when they had a moment alone. Though who knew when that moment would come as he would need to keep Genevieve close by, for fear of her giving away her disguise. He genuinely did not wish the men to know he had two women aboard.
Though the crew were a good enough lot, it was highly unlikely that the roughest of them would think it fair for him to have two of what they had none of. Especially when he had abruptly cut short what they had believed would be several days of shore leave.
He spoke with resignation. “Unfortunately, the storm has postponed our discussion. But make no mistake, we will continue, however unpleasant it may prove.”
Genevieve looked at him with chagrin. “I can tell you in this moment that I am sorry I have come here and I wish to go home.”
He shook his head. “It is impossible. You heard what Harlan said. A storm is coming. We will have to go on. You, Genevieve, will stay in this cabin with Constanza until I have time to sort this out.”
She sputtered, “But—”
He cut her off with a motion of his hand. “Nay, I will not discuss it now. You have gotten yourself into this. You will not even consider doing aught but obey me. You will continue to wear your disguise, for I will not explain my having two women to my men. They do get lonely aboard ship.”
He saw color stain her cheeks as she realized just what he was saying. “They would not dare.”
“No,” he informed her immediately. “They would not dare. But I prefer not to be forced to confront the matter. I have enough to occupy my mind.”
He was moved by the relief she tried to hide. He was aware of the fact that Maxim Harcourt had tried to force himself upon her when she was in his care, though she had refused to reveal any details of that ordeal. He had no wish for her to fear being in such a position again and was, in fact, sickened by the very idea that she would feel such anxiety.
But he did not wish her to know the degree of his reaction. Quickly he turned to Constanza. “Genevieve will stay with you in the cabin this day and share the bed with you each night. I cannot have her sleeping out on deck.”
Genevieve spoke up hurriedly. “I could not—”
His brows arched. “You certainly could and you will. It was your decision to come aboard, Genevieve. You will simply have to accept the consequences of that.” He looked at her for a long moment and saw the displeasure on her face. “Unless, of course, you do prefer to sleep on deck.”
She scowled at him fiercely. “Nay, how could I possibly prefer that? But—”
“Then it is done.” He moved to the table where he had been going over his charts when Charley first pounded on the door—before his life had exploded in chaos with the arrival of the very woman he so desperately wished to put from his mind.
He could feel the seething anger of Genevieve at this very moment, but he did not acknowledge it. He must show an appearance of indifference no matter how difficult it might be. She must return home and marry Roderick Beecham, leaving him to the life he had worked so hard to make his own.
He was glad that he had already folded his own blanket and tucked it in the chest beneath his padded bench. There was no sign that he had not spent the night in the bed with Constanza.
His regretful gaze went to Constanza’s unhappy face. Again he resolved to explain his reasons for putting her in such an awkward position as soon as possible.
Now he had to go out and secure his ship against the storm that had begun to rage as loudly as the one in his heart.
Chapter Four
As she watched the other woman disappear behind the screen, Genevieve felt her stomach churn with rage toward Marcel. What madness had ever possessed her to believe he wanted her, that he was anything other than a black-hearted knave?
She recalled her first sight of him in the great hall at Brackenmoore the previous day—thinking that he had changed. He had indeed changed, and more than she had imagined. The Marcel she had known would never kiss her as he had when he was in love with another woman. For surely he was in love with Constanza.
He had her near him. Poor Constanza, Genevieve could not even look at her as she came from behind the screen, now garbed in a heavy velvet gown. Marcel had betrayed her as surely as he had betrayed Genevieve.
For was that not what he had done by kissing her, touching her the way he had? And she, fool that she was, had cared for nothing but the feelings that were racing through her own body. She had been able to think of nothing beyond the mad thought that her physical reactions meant she was in love with him.
Her miserable gaze flicked back to Constanza. She had not known that he was bound to another.
The other woman was watching her closely and Genevieve could not hold that gaze, for fear of the woman’s reading all that had passed between her and Marcel. She suspected that Constanza knew more of the truth of the situation than she had been told.
Loving Marcel as she must, Constanza would surely feel that something was wrong between Marcel and Genevieve. Loving him as she did, and feeling that he loved her in return.
Genevieve’s heart twisted in her chest at the thought of their feelings for each other. Again she told herself that she was a fool, a poor mad fool. It did her no good to pine for a man who loved another, who had not had the decency to make his position clear before kissing her.
Hopelessly she moved to stare out the portal.
The other woman’s gentle voice interrupted her tortured thoughts. “You must be tired and hungry. Sit and I will get us some food, por favor.”
Genevieve spun around to look at her, knowing that her surprise must be obvious. “You are concerned for my comfort?”<
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The other woman’s brown eyes measured her with a surprising depth of kindness. “Of course. You have been through much.”
Genevieve looked away. She did not know what to say, could not even understand her own tumultuous emotions. She went to the long bench beside the table and sat down, drawing her knees up to hold them tightly against her.
Misery gripped her, making her throat tight and her chest ache. She was determined not to cry. Not in front of Marcel’s woman.
Marcel’s woman. The thought only increased her pain.
Until just short minutes ago she would have given anything to be Marcel’s woman. Now there was nothing she wanted so much as to get away from here, to never set eyes upon him again.
But that was impossible. When night fell she would be sleeping in this chamber with both Marcel and Constanza. She was, in fact, to sleep in the bed they had shared.
’Twas an unbearable thought.
Worse yet, Marcel had demanded an explanation as to why she had come here. Genevieve could not tell him of her mad delusions of being in love with him. The fact that she had come to her senses did not lessen her shame.
Unfortunately, it was through no one’s fault but her own.
Again Constanza’s soft voice interrupted her. “I will get the food now. As the storm worsens it will become impossible.”
Genevieve looked at her then. She seemed quite knowledgeable about what would occur during the storm and not in the least concerned. How long had she been on the Briarwind? Genevieve could not bring herself to ask, but she could not completely restrain her curiosity about Marcel’s mistress as she again took in her exotic beauty. “Your English is very good, yet it seems as if you are not English.”
The woman nodded, her gaze disconcertingly assessing. “Sí I am originally from Spain.”
Genevieve could not stop herself from going on, though the subject was not an easy one to bring up. “Is that where you met Marcel? Where you and he…”
“No.” She gave Genevieve a last indecipherable look and left the cabin.
Marcel looked up from tying off a rope to see Constanza standing behind him waiting for his attention. The winds whipped at her long dark hair, and her brown eyes were no less stormy than the sky above them.
He was not surprised.
He had fully expected that she would require an explanation for his allowing Genevieve to believe they were lovers. He had not thought she would demand one now with the storm beginning to rage around them.
The moment his gaze met hers, she said, “What are you about, Marcel? Just now Genevieve was asking me questions about us and I did not know what you would have me say. Why did you allow her to believe we are together, that we are…?”
He was acutely away of the other hands working nearby as they secured the ship. He did not wish them to overhear.
His gaze came back to Constanza’s face. How could he even begin to explain this to her? He spoke hesitantly. “As for what you should tell her, I would not ask you to lie, yet…”
She shook her head. “I cannot do so.”
He frowned. “You do not understand how things are between myself and Genevieve, for it is more complicated than any words I have to offer. Can you not accept that I know it is for the best to allow her to believe this? I do not wish her to imagine that there is any chance for the two of us.”
Her full lips set stubbornly as she held her windtossed hair away from her face. “I owe you much, my friend, more than I could ever repay, but I do not believe I can do this. Her eyes, they look at me with such…”
Marcel grimaced, drawing her aside. Luckily the crew, even those closest to them, seemed to have no care for their conversation. He could speak freely. “She imagines that there is something between her and me.”
She shrugged with obvious irony, saying, “And with good reason, for even I can see as much.”
He felt his lips thin as he shook his head. “You do not understand. Genevieve is not for me. We are of different worlds. I am captain of this ship. She is a wealthy heiress, a noblewoman. I cannot allow her to act on a physical attraction that could well destroy her life.”
Constanza’s mouth rounded. “Oh, I see.”
Marcel knew momentary guilt as he realized what she would be thinking, which would be that, when he referred to their being of different worlds, he meant their social status. Constanza, like the others on board the Briarwind, knew nothing of his own noble heritage.
He pushed his guilt aside. Constanza’s cooperation in this matter was necessary. What he said of his own and Genevieve’s lives being too different was no less true simply because it was based on his own personal need to have his own life. A life that he had made by his own hard work.
Without meeting her gaze, he said, “Now you understand.”
She nodded, though with obvious reluctance.
Relieved at her acquiescence, however grudging, he looked about them, waving a hand toward the rising sea. “I will talk with you on this again, if you wish, but now I must see to the Briarwind.”
Again she nodded. But she did not go before adding, “I do not know how you know this young noblewoman, but I now see why you do not sleep at night, why you do not look to the woman who would welcome you. Yet she has left all she knew to come to you. Surely it means that she loves you very much. Perhaps love is all you require to see your differences through?”
His lips tightened, not bothering to tell her that the attraction he and Genevieve shared had nothing to do with love. He knew the physical reactions that had flared up between them had been fueled by Genevieve’s deep-seated desire to become an Ainsworth. As far as his own desire was concerned, well, she was a very beautiful woman.
He cast these thoughts aside and replied, “’Tis unthinkable. I will thank you to refrain from mentioning this again. I have long since made my decision on this matter. Genevieve and I are not for each other and, as soon as my duty in Scotland is done, I will be taking her home where she belongs.”
Constanza made no comment on this statement, only nodding her head sharply in reaction to his curtness and moving away. Telling himself he was glad to have this interview ended, he went back to his duties.
Genevieve did not see Marcel again that day. The storm rose to a fever pitch outside and the seas became so wild that she could see nothing beside a gray blur beyond the portal.
She was glad that she had forced herself to consume a small portion of the bread and meat Constanza had brought on a tray. Not much time passed before the sea became so rough that the ship began to toss wildly beneath them.
Though the pitching caused her stomach to roll, it also made conversation difficult. A trace of seasickness seemed a small price to pay if she could avoid speaking with Marcel’s woman.
Not long after the full force of the gale hit them, the cabin door opened and the man Marcel had addressed as Harlan entered. His gaze skimmed over Genevieve where she sat with her knees pulled up to her chin on the bench and passed on to Constanza.
He spoke with obvious concern. “You are well?”
She nodded, her gaze skipping to Genevieve. “We are both well.”
He looked again at Genevieve, still showing little interest, then back to the other woman. “That is fine then. I…we just wanted to make certain.” The tall, slim man raked a rough hand through his sun-streaked blond hair.
Genevieve was aware of his lack of interest in herself, for why would he greatly concern himself with a young stowaway? She noted the tension between him and Constanza, but she realized that they must be anxious about the storm. Perhaps Genevieve herself would be more apprehensive if she were not so preoccupied with her own distress at discovering Marcel loved another.
Costanza looked down at her hands as she said, “That was most kind of you. You must thank Marcel for sending you and go now tend your own duties. Do not concern yourself further. We are safe here.”
He frowned and nodded jerkily, then swung around and left them.
&nbs
p; Constanza stood there for a moment, watching the closed door before turning to Genevieve. “It was very good of Marcel to send him, was it not?”
Genevieve swallowed hard before answering. “Aye, it was. He is a considerate man.” Even she could hear the strain in her voice, for she was very sure that Marcel had not been concerned for her safety when he sent his man. This further proof of his care for his mistress only made her throat tighten.
She felt nothing but relief when Constanza nodded politely and went to tend some purpose of her own behind the screen.
The hours of silence gave Genevieve a great deal of time to think on exactly what she would say by way of explaining her presence aboard the Briarwind But she came no closer to coming up with a reasonable justification.
She told herself it was because she remained too disturbed by the fact that she must share this small space with Marcel’s woman.
As the evening wore on, Constanza came out from behind the screen and again tried to engage her in conversation despite the noise of the wind and crashing waves. Genevieve could not bring herself to chat politely. Her heart felt like a heavy weight in her chest and every breath of the air in the cabin Marcel shared with the lovely Spaniard seemed to sear her lungs.
With a long, considering look that ended in a helpless shrug, Constanza went to bed.
When Genevieve did grow tired she did not join the other woman where she lay in the bed. Instead, she stretched out upon the long bench beside the table, covering herself with her cloak.
She only realized that she had finally fallen asleep by the fact that she opened her eyes to see Marcel’s face leaning over her. That he was not pleased was more than apparent in his blue Ainsworth eyes.
He waved an impatient hand, the other riding a lean hip. She could not help noting that he was quite distracting in his snug-fitting black trousers and hose. “I thought I had made it clear that you were to sleep with Constanza.”
She reared up, pushing backward immediately when the motion brought her too close to the bare wall of his chest. Though she had avoided actually contacting that smooth golden expanse, her eyes fixed upon it. Genevieve’s blood seemed to thicken and heat in her veins.
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