“I will see you tomorrow on your father’s sailboat.”
Eleanor simply nodded, then hurried up the path. He wouldn’t go sailing with them tomorrow. Her mother would see to that. Their acquaintance was at an end. And his kiss would haunt her forever. As Eleanor stepped undetected through her bedroom door, a plump tear broke loose of her lashes and drifted down her cheek.
Five
“What in the hell is he doing here?” John took a deep breath and nodded toward the titled gentleman still standing on the pier. Beside Eleanor.
“I had to invite him... Matilda insisted.”
John glared at Eleanor’s father and tied off the rope he held. “I agreed to this outing because you said it would be a good chance for your daughter and I to be together.”
“Under my watchful eye,” Franklin reminded and John wondered if he knew about Eleanor and his meeting yesterday morning.
“That’s fine. But I’m interested in getting this settled as quickly as possible.” John found the longer he was around the socially elite the more he disliked the experience. He was anxious to return to Montana... to work he told himself, but wondered if there wasn’t more to it than that. The people of Newport and their proper lives annoyed him. Except for Eleanor.
John repressed that thought and turned his attention back to her father when he spoke.
“I told you yesterday that Eleanor loves sailing. It’s the one place where she shines, so to speak.”
John wanted to tell Franklin that Eleanor shone a lot more than he gave her credit for, but he was too busy worrying about his queasy stomach. For if there was one place that John didn’t belong it was on a boat.
He discovered that the first time he boarded one. His mother had died and there was nothing for him in New Orleans. So he decided to sign on a ship heading around the Cape of Good Hope. California was the call he would follow. But getting there was a nightmare of nausea and storms and decks that tilted so far off center he thought they’d surely capsize.
He was fourteen at the time, passing for sixteen, and doing his best to keep his malady hidden. For three months he endured, finally gaining his sea legs as they traveled north up the California coast. And he swore to himself that as soon as he crossed the gangplank he’d keep his feet firmly planted on land. A vow he kept until today.
It was a testament to how impatient John was becoming with this courtship that he agreed to Franklin’s plan. Eleanor enjoyed sailing. He could pretend... for a day. And they’d be chaperoned by the one person other than himself, who wished his suit to succeed... her father.
And there would be no Matilda Fiske to cope with. For Franklin had assured him Matilda never sailed. But Eleanor’s mother had done her best to cross him anyway, and she didn’t even realize it. She’d insisted Sir Alfred be included... even though she had no idea John would be aboard.
Minutes later Sir Alfred helped Eleanor on board and they left the pier. Franklin Fiske prided himself on his sailing and it was obvious Sir Alfred did too. He quickly took over the task of first mate. Which was fine with John.
The sky was blue, the sea calm and the wind just brisk enough to send them skimming across the waves. And still his stomach revolted.
But by the expression on Eleanor’s face it was obvious she loved the experience. Looking out over the bow, her hair blowing free of the pink ribbon, she looked very young and almost beautiful.
John swallowed down a wave of nausea and decided on the spot to furnish her with expensive boats and crew after their marriage. He would be in Montana most of the time anyway, but there was no reason why she couldn’t enjoy herself.
She looked toward him and smiled shyly and he couldn’t help the pang of regret. For the circumstances surrounding their meeting... for the marriage he would propose. She deserved better. He glanced toward Sir Alfred and remembered his decision that Eleanor deserved better than him, too. Which she wasn’t likely to get knowing how her mother favored that union.
So the choice was simple. And to John’s way of thinking easily made. After all, he could provide Eleanor with all the material things she could ever want.
“You seem pensive.” Eleanor settled into the seat beside John.
John forced a smile. He imagined pensive was a courteous term to describe the way he looked. At least if it was anything like he felt. He ignored her statement. “You certainly appear to be enjoying yourself.”
“I am, but...” She reached out to touch his cheek, then obviously thought better of it and let her hand drop. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” John sucked in his breath. “Perhaps just a bit seasick.”
“Oh my. Should we turn back?” Eleanor shaded her eyes and stared toward the fading shoreline.
“No.” John grabbed her hand when she would have moved toward her father. “It will pass.”
“Are you sure?”
“It always does,” John lied. “But you seem to be enjoying the ride.”
“Yes.” She turned her face to the breeze, letting the wind sweep over her. “My earliest happy memory is of sailing. Mother hates it so she never came along. It was just my father and me.” Her lashes lowered. “I never seem to spill anything when I’m sailing.”
She glanced over at him and laughed and John decided to buy her the largest yacht he could find. He only regretted he would be away from her most of the lime, unable to see her pleasure.
As if sensing that she’d revealed too much about herself, Eleanor changed the subject. “Were you born in Montana?”
“No. New Orleans.”
“Really? I have some distant cousins who live in New Orleans.”
“I doubt I know them.” John realized his tone was harsh and smiled to soften the effect. “My father died... tragically. After that,” he lied, “my mother didn’t travel much in society.” She stayed in her crib, entertaining every man who came along, John wanted to say, but of course he didn’t. As sweet as she seemed, Eleanor Fiske, child of wealth and privilege, would never understand... or accept the life he’d led. Nor did he want her to. Wasn’t the entire purpose of marrying Eleanor to push himself as far away from his past as he could?
“I think the wind has picked up,” Eleanor said after a few moments of silence. She’d made him angry and she wasn’t sure how. But she was acting as bad as Alexandra Quince looking into his pedigree.
She stood and after excusing herself went to help her father and Sir Alfred with the sails. The afternoon wore on and Eleanor watched as John Bonner gamely spelled Sir Alfred. But she could tell he wasn’t well, and couldn’t help wondering why he came sailing if it affected him so.
Not that she’d been sorry to see him this morning on the dock. She heard snippets of an argument between her parents last evening and the occasional mention of Mr. Bonner’s name lead her to believe he was the cause.
But apparently her mother hadn’t succeeded in her campaign to have him banned. Eleanor was so deep in thought that she almost missed the first flash of lightning as it zigzagged across the sky. But no one could miss the booming roar of thunder. She looked up to see dark, fast-moving clouds pushing in from the south.
“We’ll head back to Oakgate,” her father yelled over the snap of the wind in the sails, as he began to tack the sloop around. But he hadn’t gone very far when he decided they should change course and try to make the closer peninsula of land to the west where the Yacht Club had its dock.
“Looks like we’ll be forced to ride out the storm over lobster at Hogat’s,” Sir Alfred added.
His smile wasn’t nearly so bright moments later when the rain began.
Hell and damnation. This wasn’t going at all as he planned. John helped Sir Alfred fight down the sail and Franklin wrestle the rudder, trying to keep them on course. But the small sailboat was bobbing around on the whitecaps, taking on water from the sky as well as the sea.
Eleanor was sitting in the bow gamely bailing and after the sails were furled, John sank onto his knees to do the same. W
hich was why he was beside her when the wave crashed over the hull.
She was leaning over the side, dumping a bucket of water one moment. The next she had disappeared.
“Eleanor!” The ocean seemed to swallow up his shout as completely as it had her. John didn’t waste time yelling again. He’d always been a man of action, and action was needed now. Without a backward glance he leaped over the side, plummeting into the churning water.
He’d learned to swim in the muddy waters of the Mississippi, but it hadn’t prepared him for this. Each movement was a struggle, a fight of will against a foe that hours ago had seemed friendly and benign. John jackknifed his body forcing himself beneath the boiling sea. The briny water stung his eyes as he searched for some sign of her. When he had to surface or burst, John gulped a deep breath of rain slashed air and tried to see above the cresting whitecaps.
That’s when he noticed her bobbing on the waves. As he called out she disappeared beneath the surface but he quickly thrust himself toward where he’d seen her. His arms felt like lead as he tried to force them to battle the swirling water.
And then she was there... in front of him. Gasping for breath. When she saw him her eyes opened wider.
“The boat,” he said motioning back over his shoulder. But when he grabbed her hand, then looked around, Franklin’s pride and joy was headed away from them, moving faster than they could possibly swim.
It was a flash of lightning that illuminated the coast, showing him there was a chance they wouldn’t drown. Still the waves buffeted then about, making their progress slow and hard fought. But he discovered that Eleanor Fiske was stronger than she looked. And a hell of a lot better swimmer than he would have ever suspected. Though her skirts were heavy and constantly dragging her down, she stayed with him, only needing his aid when they neared the tree-lined shore.
With one arm around her waist John helped her stagger onto the rocky beach. “Over there,” he yelled above the roar of the wind and surf.
At first Eleanor didn’t know what he was saying, or what he meant as he pulled on her arm. She was tired. More tired than she’d ever been in her life and she’d just escaped a sea that seemed eager to swallow up her existence. Her breath was coming in gasps. She needed to rest. To drop to the ground and give in to exhaustion.
But he wouldn’t let her be, and finally she twisted toward him, ready to strike out if she must and see what he was coaxing her toward.
A shack of some description. Fishing or something. Eleanor was in no condition to care. But she yanked on her skirts and struggled across the wind and rain swept beach. She’d lost her shoes to the ocean and catching her toe on an exposed root, tripped.
But before she could fall, John scooped her into his arms. She nestled her face into his neck and he rushed on toward the shelter.
The door was open, hanging from its hinges, and pounding back and forth with each gust. As soon as John stumbled inside he dropped to his knees. “Are you all right?” His voice sounded raspy as he bent over where he’d settled her on the rough-hewn wood floor.
Eleanor nodded. Then after taking a deep breath she opened her eyes. “Are you?” He was very close to her and despite the dim light she could see the droplets of water on his long dark lashes. She reached up to touch his cheek, her breath catching on a sob when he covered her hand with his own. “I thought I was going to die.”
His eyes closed and he turned his mouth into her palm. The warmth of his breath seemed to force the chill from her bones.
“Then I saw you.” Her other hand reached out to brush aside the wet hair plastered to his face. “And I was so frightened.” She paused as his lashes lifted and his eyes met hers. “For you,” she finished, curving her fingers around his neck.
Eleanor didn’t know if she urged him down or if he came of his own volition, but she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and opened her mouth to him when his lips met hers. He tasted of salt and fear and the victory they’d both won over the storm and the sea. And she savored the flavor.
Outside, the fierce squall raged, sending the waves crashing against the shore. And inside, soaked and battered, a storm of another kind exploded between Eleanor and John.
Six
There had been other women, other needs burning brightly through the years. But none so strong, so urgent as the one consuming him now. John drank of her kisses like a man possessed. His breathing rasped, nearly as loud as when he first staggered from the water.
The hem of her sodden gown lifted beneath his eager hands and he skimmed the moist warmth of her flesh. Her legs were long and slender. His fingers inched aggressively up the smooth skin, pressing higher with each ragged moan she uttered.
John quickly discarded her drawers, pulling them down, and tossing them aside. She gasped when he tangled his fingers in the curls at the apex of her thighs, but he swallowed the sound into his own mouth, and continued his quest.
Eleanor bucked, pushing herself more firmly into his palm when his finger entered her. Somewhere in the back of her mind rang a warning that she should stop him. He was touching her, caressing her, in places she’d been warned never to even think about. But it felt so wonderful. The heat, the passion engulfed her completely. And she banished any thoughts of bringing this magic to an end.
Clutching his broad shoulders, digging her fingers into the wet fabric of his coat, Eleanor answered him kiss for kiss. His tongue demanded, and she answered the call, spearing her own into his mouth. Sending her heart on a mad thundering ride.
And then something sent Eleanor’s head spinning. She cried out, unaware of what was happening, knowing only that she soared above the ramshackle cabin. Wave after wave of incredible pleasure washed over her and she held onto John now to keep herself from floating away completely.
A touch was all it had taken. John looked into her face, and marveled at how receptive she was to him. He never expected a response like hers. His own need burned till he thought he might explode. One hand fumbled with the wet fastener on his pants as his mouth dipped down to capture her lips. And that’s when he heard the voices.
It amazed John how he could hear Eleanor’s name being called, when earlier his desire had blocked out the rage of the storm. But now he realized the storm was past and only a smattering of raindrops sounded against the roof.
“What is it?” Eleanor looked up at him, her eyes round, her lips still moist from his kisses. “What’s wrong?”
“I heard something.” John pushed up on his elbows, the passion of moments ago still coursing through his veins.
“I don’t—” Eleanor paused when she heard the voices. “Oh, my goodness. It’s my father.” The truth of what was happening came crashing down on her, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move. She was lying on the splintery floor of an abandoned shack, soaking wet. Her skirts where pushed above her waist and she’d been doing the unspeakable with a man she hadn’t even known before this summer.
And she was about to be caught by her father.
Except that John seemed to have his wits about him. He was up reaching down and pulling her to standing before she knew what he was about. He yanked her sodden skirts down, then turned toward the door just as it fell open.
~ ~ ~
“How could you, Eleanor?”
Letting her head fall back against the pillow, Eleanor shut her eyes to the sight of her mother pacing about her bedroom. Every time she turned, Matilda paused to grab up her train and swish it around behind her.
“How could you go to that... shack with that man?”
Eleanor wasn’t sure which her mother resented most, that she’d been rescued by John Bonner, or that she’d sought refuge in a shack. Thank heavens she didn’t know what Eleanor did in that shack with John Bonner.
“Mother, I didn’t try to be swept off the sailboat,” Eleanor said wearily. Now that the ordeal was over she was incredibly tired.
Matilda looked as if she might argue that point, but just pursed her lips instead. “You
r clumsiness was nearly the death of you. Now you know why I disapprove of you going out on boats.”
“Is that truly why, Mother?” Eleanor lifted her head. “I always thought it was because you knew I enjoyed it.”
Matilda’s eyes narrowed. They seemed as hard and cold as flint. “I see your ordeal has left you insufferably disrespectful.” She turned, flipping her train behind her. “I shall have to assume it is because of that Bonner man.” With her fingers on the gold door handle she paused. “Get some rest, Eleanor. Sir Alfred has already called once and I told him you were indisposed. By tomorrow I should think you could receive him.”
Eleanor watched her mother leave, then settled back on the velvet bedcover with a sigh.
She was being impertinent, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. And she didn’t think it had anything to do with John Bonner. Though he overwhelmed her so completely that maybe he controlled her mind too and she just didn’t know it. Eleanor giggled at the thought, then clasped her hand over her mouth in case someone might hear her.
Wouldn’t they wonder why she was so giddy? Tall, awkward, Eleanor Fiske. Giddy with love.
Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Eleanor rolled over. She pressed her breasts into the mattress, nearly moaning at the memories her tingling nipples brought to mind.
John Bonner. Tall, brave and incredibly handsome loved her. He’d risked his life to save her. Like a knight in shining armor. At first when she saw him in the water Eleanor had assumed he’d been swept overboard much as she was. But her father and Sir Alfred both saw him dive in after her.
How fearless. How courageous. Eleanor couldn’t come up with enough adjectives to describe her beloved. She remembered how frightened she’d been, the waves tossing her about. And how she felt when she knew he was there with her.
She loved him There was no denying it.
And he loved her, too.
Oh, perhaps he hadn’t said so. Not in words anyway. But he jumped in after her. And later, in the shack, he did such marvelous things to her with his hands and mouth. Eleanor nearly swooned thinking of it. She nestled her cheek against the pillow, a smile on her lips and fell asleep.
The Bride Page 4
